


Face The Divine

by my_soul_is_fire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Hunters, Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester-centric, Christmas, Creature Castiel, Dean-Centric, Depression, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Horror, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, No Smut, POV Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Souls, True Forms, Violence, Winged Castiel, Wings, Winter, forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 57,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_soul_is_fire/pseuds/my_soul_is_fire
Summary: When Dean Winchester moves from his hometown with his brother Sam and sister-in-law Jessica, he doesn't know his life is about to change. Haunted by the strangeness of his past and his present insecurities, he finally finds some peace when he walks into the dark woods behind his house. But his dull and gray existence is soon turned upside down when he meets Castiel, a man he feels immediately drawn to, a luminous creature beyond words. Dean discovers a whole new world at the same time, making him question everything he ever believed. But as he starts living for good, he'll soon see nothing is ever predictable, for magic and madness are two very close things...





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> I once went on a walk and at some point, arrived in a foggy, very cold field. The atmosphere was too magical and gloomy for me to ignore it and after a while without any inspiration, I decided I had to write a little something!  
> So here it is, a new story full of love, heartbreak and magic. I had some fun writing it, and so I hope you'll enjoy it too!  
> Thanks to anyone who'll read it, and if you want to say something, don't hesitate!
> 
> Playlist with a bunch of songs that inspired me: https://8tracks.com/atenebrae/face-the-divine

 

Cold ashes start to rain on this November morning. They wrap themselves around the fields as the dark, soft velvet of the night is chased away by golden hands. The heavy slumber drifts away and dreams are thrown into the glacial wind. The sky throws some pale gray, sorrowful blue and shivering pink up above, as the city sits at the edge of its bed like a tearful bride, the breeze blowing strong in the room, singing the unchained nightmares.

Through the windows covered of steam, the landscape uncoils, numb and dull. It's the same pattern for miles. Small gray houses, dying gardens and shaking trees are followed by wide empty fields that barely breathe, as if a war raged not so long ago among the mud and dry grass. As the black road keeps appearing on the horizon, a dark line of pines starts to shine at the end of this ribbon. At first, the town seems quite small, with old tired souls haunting bars and parks all day long, but as the car keeps growling and eating miles, the city keeps unfurling feather by feather, laying its wide plains and gloomy hidden paths to the human eye.

 

And this forest, oh this forest. The city's most precious and incredible possession and yet most mysterious gift from nature. At the first glance thrown to its tall trees, the heart skips a beat. Is it fascination ? Is it dread ? No one could tell, but rare were the ones daring to cross the thin line between the safe hike paths and this wild, shivering jungle.

And yet the golden car is getting closer to this hostile neighbor, tires biting the gravel as it approaches a small wooden house perched above the city with a breathtaking view over the cold fields. The forest is near, spying on this metallic stranger with a frowning eye but the building does not mind, it stands tall above the ground and holds its breath as the first car arrives, sparkling under the dull sky.

Right beyond it, another one approaches, slow like a hesitant horse. Far away in the city, the church bell rings, throwing long nine hours in the emptiness of the morning. It's warm inside the car, radio spitting forgotten songs. Fingers are tapping the wheel, following the pulses as an exhausted heart struggles to hold on. There's an aching spine, a shivering flesh, disheveled sandy hair and burning eyes as the black car finally parks behind the golden one.

 

Dean Winchester has a long, heavy sigh. He passes a hand on his face, chases the tiredness way. Though the ride was not very long, it feels like he spent nights and days in this small space, his eyes wide open as the road kept appearing in front of him like an old enemy. He glances at the house and feels his soul hurt a little.

He didn't choose to be here, not really. He was fine where he was, in their previous town in Kansas. He had settled down in this new life and surprisingly, he even started to feel confident about the future, about what it was ready to give him. He started to enjoy each bitter coffee he had every morning, and every cold gust of wind hitting him when he was going outside. He started to enjoy the soft emptiness he felt as he woke every morning, far away from the battlefields and bombs and gas and tears and _blood_.

He had everything to be one of those who love life as it comes: a home, a brother who was the other half of his soul, a sister-in-law he adored, a decent job at a small bar in town, loving friends, and even a dog he got at a near shelter after he spent years saying he would never allow it in his car. It was some kind of hound dog that was abandoned in the woods when the master discovered it was a loving, warm creature instead of a beast thirsty for blood and races. Dean thought that new presence would be enough, for it filled that swirling black hole inside him for a while. But it didn't last.

 

He should have seen it coming. Of course, he could have stayed where he was. But as Sam and Jessica's dreams evolved without him, they started to need another air, another view. In a few months, everything was planned, from the future house to the small flower shop they would own there. The town was in the countryside, in a rather calm area, away from the trouble, noise and smoke sticking to the city like a second skin. They were ready to start a new life, to jump into the future and let its clear water take them God knows where.

Dean's heart broke the second Sam announced their departure. All his insecurities came rushing in: his fear of abandonment, his terrible dread of loneliness, his memories of war, the recurring nightmares that kept coming night after night. He couldn't say a word, only mutter sentences that sounded fake and numb and broken. Sam and he lived together for their whole life and it didn't pass a day where they wouldn't come to see each other, driven by some animal instinct to protect their own blood. As Sam was not blind, he immediately saw the way Dean's face crumbled to pieces. He tried to reassure him, tried to convince him he would have a wonderful life without them, and they would still come and visit sometimes.

 

But as the words started to get stuck in his throat, Dean's mind twisted and snapped and suddenly he realized he couldn't live with the stench of the city anymore. That maybe he belonged to the wide fields he briefly saw when he would travel with his family as a child. Maybe he needed a change to find the taste of life again. He asked Sam if he could follow, and he felt so awful for being such a burden to bear. He swore he would not suffocate them and would get a house as far as possible from them, he would be invisible, _promised_.

Sam had a laugh, a soft sound that froze Dean from head to toe. “You don't have to ask, Dean! You know Jess and I love you, right? You could live with us if you wanted to!” he said before he took his brother in a bone crushing hug.

 

Dean had a nervous smile that sent acid in his belly as he assured he would be alright on his own. And here he is, contemplating Sam and Jess' new home. He chose a small house for himself, a few miles closer to the woods. He had also applied for a job at the local bar, wanting to keep a few remains of his previous life. He has a long sigh and he bites his tongue to keep the dark thoughts at the back of his rotting brain. He hates the way his mind keep whispering to him how miserable he is, and what Sam and Jess must think of him.

 

A familiar voice makes him jump in the car. “Are you planning to stay all day inside?” Sam asks, grinning at him on the other side of the window.

Dean grunts and gets out of the car. The cold wind immediately hits his face with silver fingers and he winces at the bite it leaves on his skin. “Hilarious” he snaps as he gives his brother a falsely angry look before he turns to glance at the house. “So? What do you think?”

Jessica arrives next to them and circles Sam's waist with her arm as she gives the house a warm look. “I think it's perfect” She turns to them. “Don't you?” she asks with a wide smile that would blind the sun.

“Sure.” Dean answers, less enthusiastic than how he wanted to sound. It's not that he doesn't like all this new surrounding. On the contrary, he feels something buried deep inside, an odd feeling that draws him to this town, this forest, and it's like he's starting to live again. But there's still this dark spirit haunting him, keeping him from feeling real joy.

If Sam noticed the shaking in his voice, he doesn't say anything. He gives Jessica a sparkling look that makes Dean roll his eyes. “Yeah, perfect” he softly says before he puts a kiss on her mouth. He then gives a look around before he stares back at Dean. “The furniture should be there soon, right?”

Dean turns to look at the road. “Yeah, I guess” he says before his eyes fall upon Gunner, his dog, and Fizz, Sam and Jessica's. They run around, looking more alive than Dean has ever seen them since they share their lives. Even Fizz who struggles to move his old, stiffened paws races as if gravity or time weren't a problem anymore.

“Time for some breakfast, maybe?” Jessica says in her golden voice. “I saw a small coffee shop when we arrived!”

Sam nods as Dean turns around. There's a little pain on his features, a soft winter settling down in his eyes.“Actually…. I think I need a little time alone, if you don't mind?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, a blurry emotion freezing his stare. “Maybe just to visit my place?

Sam's eyes darken a little but his lips break into a thin smile. “Sure. We could still meet there at 10?” he says as he makes a step to Dean, before he claps his shoulder. “You wouldn't miss breakfast for anything, right?” he adds, a nervous spark in his eye.

“Never” Dean answers, gripping his brother's shoulder in return, holding onto it for a short moment before he walks back to his car. A short whistle and Gunner raises his head to him, before he runs to the Chevrolet and jumps on the front seat, curling into a ball on his blanket. Dean turns back to Sam and Jess who both give him the same worried look. “Hey, don't worry. I'm not going to disappear. Just looking around, OK?”

“We know” Jessica says. She walks to him and puts a kiss on his cheek, leaving him half frozen of surprise. She steps back with a smile. “We care about you, that's all.”

 

Dean frowns but doesn't answer. He simply nods before he gets into the shiny black car and closes the door. As soon as he hears the engine roar, a warm feeling fills his being again, before he starts to drive away from the house. Sam and Jessica's eyes follow him for a moment, and he feels their worried irises piercing through the back of his head. He bites his tongue and represses the urge to come back to them. He needs to rip whatever part of him is so tied to them, he needs to let them breathe. He's not their kid, not their wounded animal they have to take care of. He can't be the broken piece of the family, the faded silhouette at the back of the photograph.

He clenches his jaw and drives to the forest, the Impala roaring under his feet. He turns up the radio and let deafening sounds fill his mind. It's barely loud enough to cover the screams inside.

 

**X**

 

That's it. That's his new life.

 

He gives a look around the house and despite the sigh his soul had in front of such a soft place, he still has to swallow back the bitter feeling rising inside his lungs. The previous owner, an old sweet lady, made him visit and gave him some information about the town, such as where to go if he ever felt the bite of boredom in his chest. The house is quite small, but it's enough for him alone. He only needs a little space to bottle up and ease his constant grief. Some of the furniture has been kept in place, and even if some of grandma's ornaments aren't his taste, there's an authentic, raw spirit in these walls that immediately made him feel at ease.

 

He is now sitting outside, on the small stairs facing the backyard, giving the tall burnt grass and dying roses a numb look. He has nothing to do except staying on these cold stones and think about change. This terrible word that haunts him, that frightens him to the core. He knows his fear is pointless, that's it's a trick from his twisted mind. He knows he'll need time to adjust, but eventually he will settle down and starts a new kind of life in this house. Everything will be like it used to be: he will work, walk his dog, spend long windy afternoon watching television until it daze him, eat some junk food and go to sleep in a cold, empty bed. Repeat in the morning, repeat for a whole life. He will get used to it.

And yet, some odd, delirious fever makes him feel like this is not permanent, that this old house full of noises is just a bridge between the past and something greater than this dull existence. It's a path opening for his own steps, leading him to God knows where. There's something whispering behind these walls and it's calling him. Somehow, his vision seem to flash every time he looks at the tall pines behind the rusty gate at the back of his yard, and his skin itches every time his eyes fall upon their dark silhouettes.

 

Gunner seems to have fallen into slumber at his feet and Dean distractedly rubs the soft fur on his head. He tries to picture how he could change this place to make it his own. His own belongings shouldn't take long to arrive and if there's something he's sure of, it's that once he'll be surrounded by memories, he will feel better. He is an animal thrown into the wild after spending years in a cage. It's normal he's dizzy and lost.

He sighs and leans his head against the door frame. His eyes flutter above the wide field behind his gate and get lost into the depth of the woods. They fall into an evergreen abyss. As the rest of the world escapes his attention, he starts to notice small, nearly invisible details. There, he thinks he sees a firefly floating in the dark, though he is way too far to tell. There, he thinks he saw one of the pine covered by a shiver, as a glowing rain is dripping from the sky, but only above that one tree. There, he blinks, confused, and he would swear he saw glowing eyes staring at him, and a tall silhouette crawling among the darkness. He holds his breath and he thinks he just heard a whisper, something very brief and beyond human comprehension.

 

He shakes his head, frowning, as he dives his eyes deeper into the woods. Right there, it feels like there's something with furious red eyes staring at him, sounding his soul and Dean knows this thing is far from holy. He barely breathes and he starts getting up, giving the earth hesitant, frightened steps. Gunner gives him an almost confused look as Dean starts getting closer to the gate. The thing crouching among the pines breathes heavily in his ear and he would swear he just heard a fluttering of wings. His shaking fingers touch the cold rusty metal and there's a sudden roar filling his ears and he jumps back, falling on his back in the dry grass, and his heart is thundering behind his ribs as he swears, oh he swears he saw something running to him, all luminous blood red eyes and claws and wings flapping into the wind, running on four limbs and then like a man, a beast that froze his heart to the very core of it.

 

As soon as he touches the ground, the vision disappears and he lays here, breathless, the world spinning and blurry around him. He lays here, and Gunner runs to him, a real worry piercing in his animal eyes. Dean tries to push the icy fear away from his heart. If his mind already played tricks on him, it was never that strong. Sure, it could be a lifeless body laying on the floor of his living room, or blood flowing from the sink or the usual bright flashes of light blinding him. He knew all about those visions haunting him after what he's been through during his missions. He knows how bad they can get, especially right after he was brought back, between life and death. He knows all about bullets ripping through the air, fire and smoke, bodies falling to the dusty ground with a thud.

But this, this is way beyond his imagination, no matter how twisted it is. This creature, this monster, it was nothing he ever saw and something he hoped he will never see again. It was something that could send you straight into the nearest asylum, if you ever got out alive. Dean stayed there for what felt like an eternity, checking his heartbeat to make sure he's still living. He gets up slowly, shaking as he glances nervously at the woods, dreading he will see the creature right in front of him, smiling with all his evil teeth.

 

He stands without moving and time flows slow. His stupor is only broken when he feels his phone buzzing in one of his pockets. He blinks and reaches for it, still shaken by what he saw. Sam's name appears bright and proud on the screen.

Dean swallows hardly, steadies his voice and answers him. “Yeah?”

“Dean where are-” Sam's voice stops when he hears his brother's quick, frightened breathing. “Is everything OK?”

“Y-Yeah, fine” Dean says, trying to convince himself. “All good.”

Sam doesn't seem convinced. “Are you sure? Cause we've been waiting for you for two hours now...”

 

Dean freezes. He lowers his phone and gives the screen a dreading look. 12:00 am appears bright and proud on it, just like a reminder of his insanity. Two hours flew by when it felt like a few minutes. What if this _thing_ played with his mind to the point he missed two whole hours of his life? Dean gulps, suddenly very cold. He raises back the phone to his ear when he hears Sam repeating his name nervously.

“I'm here. I-” Dean stops and thinks. He can't tell Sam he just had a vision of whatever that thing was. He already followed him like a dog, there's no way he becomes the crazy brother he has to take care of. He calms his breathing. “I just wanted to stay here for a while. Sorry I didn't call.”

There's a moment of silence. “It's OK. I get it.” Sam says softly. “You can still come for dinner tonight. We just got the movers on phone and they will arrive in twenty minutes. Jessica wants to finish all the house tonight” he says, chuckling. Dean has a weak smile when he hears Jess protesting in the background. He can imagine her pulling a strand of hair on Sam's head, sticking out her tongue to him before she breaks into a wide, sunny laugh.

“I promise” Dean whispers, giving a last look to the woods, his heart giving a last kick against his ribs. “I'll go to the bar this afternoon and maybe visit. I dunno. I guess you'll be busy at home?”

“Yeah, wish I could come. But Jess will kill me if I don't help her unpack everything” he says before there's another laugh next to him. “Call you later if you want?” he adds a moment after.

“Nah, I'll be good” Dean mutters. 

“Shouldn't the movers be at your place by now?” 

Dean turns to the house when he hears a vehicle parking at the front. “Speaking of the Devil...” he says and a shiver runs down his spine when there's an amused laugh behind him. But this time it's not Jess. His body snaps back to the forest but the field is empty. His heart has a distraught beat. “See you” he answers and before Sam can answer, he ends the call.

 

He glances at the woods, ready to hear that awful evil sound once again, but only pure, deep silence answers him. He releases all the air in his lungs before he walks to the house, each of his steps like thunder in his chest. Deep down, he know there's an explanation but he just wants to keep it there, in the depths of his body, warm and safe.

 

There's only way to explain the emptiness within his soul, the black hole sucking the light in his bones, the tiredness he feels no matter how much pills he swallows to spend one damn night without waking up covered in sweat and tears. There's only one way to explain why he never felt like he belonged, why both is parents abandoned him when he needed them the most. There's only one way to explain why these bloody visions keep swarming to him, why he sees things that don't exist. He knows it but he wants to be wrong. Because this only one way resonates in his skull, endlessly.

_He is insane._

X

 

Dean is sitting on the floor of the living room, a book on his lap. He flips its old, dusty pages and his eyes have been fluttering on the yellowish pages for a while now. Gunner is curled up into a ball next to him, enjoying the warmth coming from the fireplace, where Dean threw a few logs of wood he found in the backyard before he cracked and threw a match on them.

The movers arrived a few hours ago and dropped the very few furniture he had. He threw a lot away before he moved out, driven by the desire to shed his old skin and start something new. He needed to replace his mind with another, one that would smell like pines and be like honey, lazy dripping gold. He had wanted to change the inside of his home many times, for it belonged to his parents before him. Everything in it reminded him of them: the smells, the colors, the sounds that still echoed in him. He couldn't live with that stench anymore, but couldn't convince himself to throw it all away.

 

He felt Sam and Jessica's decision as both a blessing and a curse. It was like his being was ripped in two by opposite ideas. One wanted to stay forever in this haunted house and hold on the faded love his parents left behind them, hold on that dying flame. The other was pulled by a mystical force, shouting at him, telling him there were many lives in one, that something was waiting for him on the other side of that melancholy. If leaving the house he grew up in hurt his soul a little, he did feel something much brighter when the movers opened the truck and he only saw what he chose to keep.

He spent a while helping them getting his belongings out of the truck and immediately went inside when they left, relieved he was finally alone. He started unpacking but soon felt the stab of hunger in his belly and let out a sigh, before he drove in town. He grabbed some pizza and a pack of beers and didn't stay any longer under the other customers' curious looks, as if he was some kind of freakshow. He gritted his teeth when he realized rumors probably flew fast in this kind of small towns and the last thing he wanted was some strangers starting to knock on his door to brought him some odd looking grandma recipes. _No thank you_.

 

After his quick meal, he started cleaning and organizing the whole house. He needed to focus on something, everything but his own torment and the voices screeching in his skull. He needed to see anything but those evil red eyes. For hours he washed everything, wishing he could drown in bleach too. When he finished, the house smelled like a hospital and sweat was dripping from his skin, forcing him to strip into a simple t-shirt.

He kept most of the furniture the house offered him, only moving the pieces that seemed to belong to another age, or world. He moved his bed to his room, opened bags and boxes, hanging photos, guns and broken dreams on the walls. The wallpaper was the same in every room, with some kind of faded branches and roses pattern, but he didn't mind. He dragged his armchair in front of the fireplace, clenching his jaw under the effort, Gunner's stare following his struggle.

 

He finally collapsed on the floor and opened the last box, the one he swore to put in the darkest, dustiest room and never touch again. Yet, here he was, his eyes fluttering above his parents' belongings. There were old photos and tickets from cinemas and plays, his mother's beloved books, his father's journal, some baby hair. They didn't mean anything to him, if not the bitter feeling of something that happened, and yet feels too wrong to even be a part of who he is now.

 

He sighs and shuts the box. He looks around and his soul sinks inside him. He doesn't have anything left to do. The house shines like a holy coin, everything is at his right place. He gets up and walks from room to room, trying to see what's missing, in vain. There's an absence in this house, an emptiness, a ghost that wasn't there when he arrived, as if he dragged it with him. When he first entered it, he was overwhelmed by the warmth and life that seemed to run through these walls. This house held a history, it breathed through the laughs and tears and joys it witnessed. But the second he settled in, this soft heat disappeared to let a brutal winter sit by his side.

An ache bloomed in his chest as soon as he realized what was missing: a presence. Years after years he lived alone for most of the time. Sure, some people would come and go, but none ever lasted for more than a few days, if not one night. Now he sees the empty space following him everywhere he goes. What makes him afraid the most is the way he is used to it. The loneliness. No one should feel alright with such a hole in his heart.

 

He shakes his head and walks to the bathroom with a heavy, desperate step. Twenty minutes later, he gets out of the shower, steam filling the small room, his skin all red and bruised by the burning water. It felt like being caressed by sandpaper but he doesn't care. At least he feels clean, even pure now. The work he did in the house drained him of all his energy, but on the bright side, he is empty of all the strength that makes him worry all the time. Just as if his blood flowed at his feet and disappeared with the soapy water, washing him of all his sins. He dares to glance at his reflection but looks away soon enough. He walks to his room and quickly gets dressed, before he checks his phone, thinking time has come for him to buy a damn watch.

 **6 pm** says the bright screen. Too early to go to Sam and Jessica's house. He sighs deeply before he decides he will pay the local bar a visit. After all, he's starting work in a week and should probably get to know his future co-workers and the place he'll pass most of his days in.

 

He puts a jacket on and pats Gunner on his head. The dog gives him an intrigued look as he starts following him to the door.

Dean has a little laugh and squats next to the dog, caressing his soft ears. “Buddy, you gotta stay here, OK? I won't be long but you gotta be cool.” The dog gives him an almost sad look and Dean holds him against his chest for a moment. “I know. But see, you won't have to hear all those drunkards yelling at you every night. Lucky you.”

 

Dean sighs and gets up. He gives the house a last sorrowful look before he definitely leaves. The ride is silent, except for the thundering of his fingers on the wheel, reflection of his nervousness, and the roar of the engine, trembling under his body. When he finally arrives in front of the bar, he stops the car and takes a deep breath, tries to strengthen his mind.

 

When he gets in, he's immediately struck by the heat inside, a damp jungle with a strong smell of alcohol, cold cigarettes and vomit. A stench he would rather stay away from, but this job is one of the rare things he can do without a degree.

When she hears the bell ringing as Dean closes the door, the woman behind the bar raises his head and her eyes cross his. A bright smile spreads on her face. Dean can't help but let his lips shape into a slight curve. He approaches the bar as tired neon lights dance around him, music resonating dull and low behind his back.

 

“You must be Dean” the woman says as her dark hazel eyes travel on Dean. Her skin is as dark as ebony and her hair falls into long waves on her shoulders.

Dean chuckles. “How did you know?” he asks, feeling a bit more comfortable. The woman has a soft, gentle presence that reassures him. 

“I didn't. I guessed” she answers, pushing her hair behind her back in a wide move. She gives him another smile. “I didn't think we'd see you so soon.”

“Yeah, well me neither. Thought I'd just come and introduce myself” Dean answers, feeling a bit wrong to not have called before. “I can go if you're busy.”

“Nah, it's OK” the woman says before she walks around the bar to face him. She holds out a hand to him. “I'm Daria by the way.”

“Nice to meet you” Dean answers, shaking her warm palm. He gives a look around. “Will you give me a visit of the place?” he asks, diving his eyes into hers, feeling his fingers brushing against her soft skin.

She has a soft laugh and pats the back of his hand before she releases it. “Sure, I'll present you the team.” She slightly tilts her hand on her side. “You do know we have the restaurant just next to the bar?”

Dean's hand falls back on his side, leaving a cold ball in his palm instead. “Yeah, I saw that. Does it change anything?”

“No, it won't” Daria answers. “We have people over there, and others here. Everyone at their right place! Jake, my brother, works here with me. And you'll probably see Mark sometimes, if he ever decides to come and work with us.” She pauses, and there's a small, subtle hint of a dark emotion in her eye. “There's also Clarke.”

“Right” Dean answers with a small laugh, a bit unsettled. “Who's Clarke? A boyfriend who'll kick my ass if you ask him to?”

“Hmm..” Daria begins and her bright confidence seems to fade a little, and she suddenly looks so small in front of Dean, despite the sharp high heels she's perched on. “Actually, it's more of a girlfriend” she finally whispers in a short breath, giving Dean a nearly frightened look.

This one gives her a smile. “She can still kick my ass, right?” he says and the awkwardness of the moment seems to fade as Daria raises bright eyes to him.

“You still want to work here?” she murmurs.

Dean frowns. “Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

Daria shakes her head. “It's a small town, Dean. People are not used to this… kind of things. I've been here since I was born and believe me, it was all Sunday party for as long as I had my husband. But when I left that bastard for her...” Her voice breaks a little in her throat. “Some clients stopped coming, others still refuse to look at me in the eye.”

She gets a bit closer to the bar and grabs two glasses, before she pours some golden liquor in them. There's a moment of silence where Dean seems to hesitate and Daria lets him think alone. She lowered her head, ready to see Dean's eyes shift to cold gems. After all, she's used to this change in people's stare. If they don't turn into stones when she mentions Clarke, their gentle smiles soon melt away as soon as they learn about her previous husband.

 

Finally, a move in the corner of her eye makes her raise her head. Dean walked to the bar and grabbed one of the glasses. He holds it out to her. “Guess they'll just have to get used to us both.” he says, and something twists in his green irises, as if a lock had been broken.

Daria gives him a surprised look before her mouth breaks into a smile. She raises her glass and knocks it against Dean's. “To us.” she says, beaming.

“To us.” he repeats, crinkles appearing to the corner of his eyes.

 

They drink it up just as a door at the back of the room slams open and a short blonde woman with an impressive tattooed arm enters the room. Her clear eyes travel from Daria to Dean, to come back to the barmaid.

“There's a party and I haven't been invited?” she says and Daria bursts into a loud laugh. She walks to the woman and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Clarke, this is Dean. He's going to work here with us.” she says, pointing at him with her empty glass.

Clarke freezes and gives him a worried look before she looks back at Daria, her blue eyes sliding on her arm around her. “Daria I don't-”

“You don't need to do this with me.” Dean cuts her as he stands up and walks to them. “I won't judge.”

Clarke's stare softens and she melts next to Daria. She gives her a relieved look. “I already like him.” she says before she turns to him. “You're different.” she murmurs, nearly silently.

“More than you know.” he says before he winks at her, creating a wave of crystal clear laugh from the two women. This sound awakes something in him, something he thought he'd never feel again. It's soft, warm, fizzing in his chest. Almost like joy…

“Alright!” Clarke exclaims as she walks to the bar, grabs a bottle and comes back to pour all three of them a drink. “Let's celebrate, then I'll give you the honor to visit this castle, Dean-o.”

Dean slams his glass against theirs. “Works for me.”

 

Their laughs go off once again, deafening like fireworks and a smile spreads on his lip. He has that odd emotion bubbling in his belly, and for now, he feels like everything is going to be alright, or at least better than he ever thought. For now, he just wants to enjoy a drink with people that don't look down on him. And to his greatest surprise, he realizes the voices have stopped. It's just a big, white silence in his head. No more buzzing monster on the ceiling of his skull, just an emptiness he would love to drown into.

 

**X**

 

Dean never felt so calm.

He is sitting at the bar, listening to the staff planning their evening. As Clarke said, they visited it in detail after finishing their drinks. His eyes fluttered upon every room, every corner and he tried to breathe in every sensation of that odd, yet comforting place. His phone shines eight bright hours and he knows he should join Sam and Jessica, but a stubborn part of his being keeps him on his seat, a bubbling happiness in his stomach.

 

He met most of the people working here. Some stay in the kitchen, others serve the clients. Some do a bit of everything, flying from room to room to help. Despite his deeply rooted disgust for buzzing crowds in small spaces, he feels warm and safe in this room, surrounded by hot welcoming auras.

Both the restaurant and bar are nearly empty of any customers. The night fell on the town and Dean frowned a little when he realized he hardly saw five people walking by. There were no families walking under the Christmas lights already hanging above the streets, no young couples holding hands, no old men coming to have a drink. Just an odd silence blowing outside. He asked Daria and she softly shook her head, saying most of the inhabitants were too superstitious and afraid to go outside at night.

 

Dean gets up of his seat and says goodbye to his coworkers, who smile warmly at him. Clarke even pulls him into a tight hug, her head resting on his chest. He blinks, surprised of this sudden wave of raw affection, before he passes an arm around her shoulders. His heart burns when he thinks of all the awful things she must have heard and endured all these years.

 

As he starts to turn away and walk to the door, this one opens wide and let a short woman come inside. Her hair is completely gray, her face bearing years of existence. She carries a basket that seems too heavy to her pale frail arms.

Dean walks to her. “Mind if I help you with this?” he says, starting to grip the basket.

The woman raises eyes so clear to him they appear as white for a second. Dean freezes a little but when he blinks, faded blue irises smile at him. “Thank you darling. I'm not as strong as I used to be” she says, letting go of her burden. She gives the personnel a little wave of her hand.

“Annie!” Daria smiles and walks to her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “You're so cold!” she exclaims, rubbing her palms on the woman's arms to warm her. “Why did you come this late?”

Annie lets her walk her to the nearest armchair, as Dean puts the basket down on a table. “I'm sorry. I wanted to bring you the honey I made this week, and I feared I would forget if I didn't come today” she smiles at Daria as this one wraps a blanket around her. “My memory is a rebel little animal.”

“Don't worry. You know you're always welcome here.” the barmaid answers, putting a hand on the older woman's shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? Clarke just made some hot chocolate!”

“That would be wonderful” Annie answers, her own hand fluttering to Daria's. “Thank you” she whispers with shiny eyes.

 

Daria winks at her before she walks to the door at the back of the room and disappears in the kitchen. Annie turns her pearl stare to Dean, who is still standing near the bar, an innocent curiosity striking his chest. The woman narrows her eyes a little.

“I don't remember seeing your handsome face around here” she says. “Are you new to this town?”

Dean knows he should start to go. Making Sam worry once again is a not a wise decision but he supposes he won't mind if he arrives a few minutes late. He walks to the armchair in front of Annie's. “You're right. I'm Dean.” he says, holding out a hand to her. She takes it and presses it in her palm for a moment before she releases it, almost unwillingly. “I just arrived this morning with my brother and his fiancé.” he says with a smile to the lady.

Annie's eyes brighten. “How wonderful! We don't see many new faces settling down here!”

Dean frowns slightly. “Really? I thought tourists loved that place?”

The woman's words are the opposite of what Sam told him. Before they moved out, his brother couldn't stop talking about how _alive_ and _sunny_ and _loud but in a good way_ the town was, especially in the summer. Streams of people were rushing out of the city to dive in the peaceful silence of the countryside that came alive for them, offering crystal clear lakes and fresh flowers hanging above the streets.

Annie nods. “Tourists, yes. If you arrived in the summer, you would have been impressed by all that crowd in every street. People truly love that place. But no one ever stays here.”

“Why?” Dean asks, completely confused.

Annie shakes her head and gives a glance around. “You will think I'm crazy. I don't want to see this look on such a beautiful face.” she says, with what could be a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

Dean only leans closer to her, desperate to hear whatever secret she knows about this town. His curiosity was always stronger than him. “No, I won't. Believe me” he says, and his muscles shake a little when the vision of the red eyed monster reappears in his mind.

Annie seems to hesitate before she moves on her seat, unease. “Things are said about this town. About the forest.”

“What?” Dean asks, wide eyed like a young child.

Annie gives another look around before she dives her pale eyes in his, and it feels like the room is getting a little bit colder, the colors fading a little around them. “Some say if you stay outside when it's dark, something will come out of the woods and take you with it. People say there are… _things_ living in them, but no one ever saw them.” She swallows down and Dean feels a shiver running down his spine, a drop of sweat wrapping itself around his backbone. “People disappeared. Their families said they went for a walk one day and they never came back. They were just _gone_. Some children said they heard whispers in the woods. Nobody wanted to believe them, but I suppose they started to change their minds when their sons and daughters never came back from their hide and seek in the forest.”

Dean is frozen, perched on the woman's words. “Are you saying there's some kind of freak living in the woods, abducting kids and all?”

Her stare strengthens in the back of his skull. “I'm afraid these voices weren't human. Once you hear these whispers, you are like hypnotized, and you enter the woods against your will. Only two people survived after being taken by these creatures.” She closes her lips for a moment. “Two young lovers. They wanted to prove there was nothing to be afraid of. They entered the forest one evening and we didn't see them for two months. When they reappeared…. They were not the same.” 

“Not the same?” Dean repeats, mesmerized. He tries to ignore the wave of fear shaking in his stomach. After what he saw this morning, he can't help but feel terrorized by the woman's story.

“They weren't talking anymore. They didn't eat or drink or sleep. They kept looking at the woods all days long. They became the shadows of themselves.” She shakes her head. “Finally, we found them dead in their apartment. No one knows what happened to them, but we suppose after all these sleepless nights, they just… collapsed.”

She stops and has a little shiver. Dean keeps staring at her, wanting more of the frightening words she's offering. “But nobody saw anything? In years?” He shakes her head, chasing the last remains of fantasy away. He gets up, realizing Sam is probably waiting for him now. “Thanks for warning me, but I think I'll be OK.” he says with a confident smile.

Annie gives him a sad, somber look. “I saw these two persons. Something terribly wrong happened to them, and no human could have done such a thing.” She takes one of his hand in hers, making him shiver, as if electricity travelled from her fingers to his heart. “Please, stay away from these woods. We don't know what is living in them.”

He has another smile, but this time to hide the dull fear clawing his bones. He pats her hand. “Don't worry. If someone tries to take me, I'll kick their ass. Fairy or not.”

Annie has a joyless laugh. “Have a good evening, Dean. I'm sorry I said these things. I didn't mean to. It's just that I haven't talk about it in years...”

“Don't worry” Dean answers with a smile. “It was a pleasure.”

 

He turns around and walks to the exit. His fingers are brushing against the cold doorknob when Annie's voice resonates again in his ears, thundering his name. But this time it's different, it's loud and whispering at the same time, filling all the empty space around him, covering the people's conversations, the music pulsing around and even the voices in his skull. He turns around to face two milky lakes, two empty eyes staring at him.

“ _You are running to your downfall._ _Your destiny has been waiting for you, and you finally came, pushed by the winds and gods._ _You're about to change and no one, not even yourself, will be able to save you,_ _for you will find religion in insanity_ _._ ”

 

Dean shudders and stumbles until his back hits the door, causing the other people in the room to give him an intrigued look. It's not the woman's words that awakened this terror in him, but rather the way she spoke them. As a painful truth, as a breach in the future, one where he won't be himself anymore, where he will let the dark eat him in one hungry mouthful.

Annie shakes her head and shuts her eyes tight. When she opens them again, they are back to gentle blue but full of tears, looking straight into Dean's soul. “I'm so sorry...” she says in a broken whisper.

 

Dean is not sure if she talks about her sudden rush of insanity, or the vision that seemed to appear to her, showing his future destruction. He could ask, but he prefers to run into the cold and let the Impala drive him away from her prophetic clear eyes. No matter what she's talking about, the truth lies underneath, wrapping its cold steel fingers around his heart.

He knows he is getting closer to the edge everyday, the one perched above an ocean of madness.

 

**X**

 

Dean opens his eyes. Sleep is still tied to him like a thick ribbon, trying to sew his eyelids together. He blinks quickly and a few tears of tiredness pearl at the corner of his vision. After a moment of panic where he looks around with distraught heartbeats, he finally realizes where he is.

 

After he ran away from the bar and Annie's icy words, he dropped by his place to pick up Gunner and some beers before he drove to Sam's place at the speed of light. The evening went warm and soothing in his chest, and through Jessica and Sam's laughter, he managed to forget what happened.

He felt good, so good it almost hurt him at first. They were finally starting something new, turning a dusty page to begin writing on a wide road as white as snow. They talked about the future, and for the first time Dean didn't feel worried about it. He told them about the cozy little bar, the first cocktails he made, he told them about Daria and Clarke and all the group that already felt like his friends. Both of them were beaming of joy for him, after witnessing long months of suffering and self-loathing.

 

Jessica made her special apple pie for him and as the vanilla ice cream melted on the warm fruits, both Sam and he felt a string pulled out in their hearts, for it brought back so many buried memories into their minds. Their mother used to buy similar ones when she got out of work and they would share it in front of the fireplace, whipped cream dripping from their laughter. But that was before she decided to leave with the excuse she wasn't a good role model for them. That was before their dad left them when Dean was barely eighteen, except this time they were sure he would never come back from the evil dance the alcohol and sleeping pills did in his veins.

 

Dean wanted to leave but as his own blood was bearing a few beers he brought, Sam and Jessica couldn't let him go by night. So he stayed and slept in one of the rooms near theirs. He spent a while with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling above him, his fingers tracing patterns on Gunner's fur. He wondered if all of this was just an illusion.

He once read something that turned his mind upside down. It was on Sam's computer, on a white, serious page which read:

 

**The world we see may not be real but we have no way to know it**.

 

What if he was just imagining all of this to ease the pain he felt inside? What if he was just bathing in soft mirages and it would soon shatter at the slightest mistake he would make? What if Sam and Jess couldn't bear his presence anymore but couldn't tell him, afraid he would snap? What if he was the puppet of Destiny and every step he made was planned by a merciless god?

 

He kept reading the article and his heart missed a bit when he reached the point where scientists talked about people creating a twisted personal world. The reality was too frightening for some, too dull and gray for others. His mouth went dry and he realized he could be imagining the love and affection of others because he felt so lonely and broken. But now that he thinks of it, why would his mind create the awful vision he had, coming out of the forest to devour him whole, or the way Annie's eyes turned white and spoke her prophecy to him?

That didn't make any sense. Unless there was something else. Unless something was way worse in him, something that could send him straight to the asylum if he ever dared to speak about it.

 

When he was a child, he would often see things other kids didn't see. Lights, silhouettes, smiles in the darkest corners. He heard whispers and lullabies outsides his window at night. He was terrified and he would hide under the covers, shaking like bones in the storm. When he finally overcame his fear and talked about it to her mother, her eyes open wide and she stared at him, for long, eternal minutes with the same terrorized expression. He was only ten at the same time but he immediately understood he made a mistake.

A few days after she left, without any explanation, and the little moth of a lie she left behind ate his young heart, bite by bite. He never understood why she acted this way. For many years, she loved to tell him storied about fairies, angels, creatures invisible to the common mortals, but bright to the special ones.

 

After she left, he never spoke about it again, to his father, brother, grandparents, friends. Never. He shut his mouth and became cold and distant for a while. When he realized his grief was only bringing more attention to him, he tried to find his balance, became himself again, laughed, ate and played but nothing more. He would be the perfect little boy they wanted him to be.

 

Slowly, the creatures disappeared. They were clawing desperately at the window each night, trying to throw an anchor in his head but he would shut his eyelids tight and push, push them away until they disappeared completely. When his father died, they tried to find their way back into his life but he stayed strong like a rock and buried himself in work and devotion to his brother, the sweat on his skin like bleach on his brain.

They never appeared again until the day he arrived to this town. The day he saw the monster in the woods. He remembers too well the terrifying vision but now he realizes something was just _wrong_. When he was young, he would see glimpses of whatever these things were, but never an entire one. They were faded, translucent, always surrounded by a thick layer of fog, while he saw every detail on the creature in the field. Its appearance was beyond words. Even if he saw some really white skin, long fingers and those evil eyes, there was something enormous shaking around the creature, a cloud of dust and nightmares swirling above.

 

He turned around in his bed and sleep just couldn't settle down in his mind. He kept thinking of the way the creature appeared so bright and real to him, while he was never able to before. A whispering little voice in his head told him it had something to do with this town, that at the moment he crossed the line entering these fields and pines, it triggered every monsters' attention and awakened whatever was asleep in him for so many years. But that would mean humans weren't alone and all kinds of creatures were hiding in the dark.

And he refuses to believe that. He prefers to think he's simply insane, that a strange disease eats his bones since his birth, no matter how the very idea burns in his chest like a whole forest fire.

 

He finally fell asleep late into the night and woke up several times, shaking after terrifying nightmares. Most of them were just glimpses, thin threads of his twisted mind but one appeared very short, yet very clear in his head, even after he woke up.

 

He was standing in front of the forest and he felt fear shaking inside his lungs. Pushed by a force stronger than him, he stepped into the shadow of the pines and entered a bright clearing where he could see specks of gold floating in the air. He blinked and suddenly there were two bright blue eyes staring at him. He tried to step back but he was like stuck on the ground, and he tried to look at the person standing in front of him but all he could see are those eyes shining in the dark of the trees, never blinking. A voice whispered his name and it made him shiver, tremble, and suddenly the dream became so cold, the ground broke under him and he fell into a pit of red hot lava, skulls and flesh floating around him as the fire started to eat him whole. The last thing he saw was these two eyes staring at him, except clear, luminous tears were filling them this time.

 

He's completely awake now. He sits on the edge of the bed, passes a hand in his hair. Gunner jumps on his lap and Dean takes a moment to hold him against his chest before he gently pushes him on his side and gets up. He puts on a t-shirt and walks down the hallway.

 

When he arrives in the kitchen, the air is heavy of a delicious smell, all bacon, pancakes and maple syrup. When he steps into the room, Sam's back is facing him. Jessica is probably still sleeping.

When he hears his footsteps, Sam turns back and offers him a smile when he sees him. “Morning.” he says, putting a plate full of food on the table. Dean sits down in front of it, grumbling at his sore bones. “Slept well?”

“Not really.” Dean answers, biting into a toast.

“Want to talk about it?” Sam says, sitting in front of him, putting two cups of steaming coffee between them. 

“Not really.” Dean repeats. 

Sam has a little sigh. “You know I'm here for you, right?” he says before he takes a sip of coffee. “You didn't seem well last night.” 

Dean freezes. He was so sure he acted like everything was fine and nobody noticed the war raging inside him. He even forgot Annie's words for a whole evening. He clenches his jaw. “Maybe.” 

Sam frowns, creating worried lines on his forehead. “Something happened at the bar?”

“It's fine.” Dean snaps, causing a troubled look from his brother. “I'm OK, alright?”

“I'm just checking on you.” Sam softly says, with a hint of sadness.

“I know. But I don't need you to watch over me like some kind of guardian angel. I know how to take care of myself.” Dean says behind his teeth, anger bubbling in his chest.

Biggest lie he ever said. He doesn't know. He's a child, literally incapable of doing anything that would be good or healthy to him. He regrets every decision he makes and every step his body makes.

Footsteps behind him makes him turn back to see Jessica staring at them. “Is everything OK?” she gently asks, giving Dean a worried look. 

“Yes.” Dean snaps, a little too roughly. He clenches his fists, biting his tongue. A sudden wave of fire is taking control over him and he cannot do anything about it. “Sorry.” he adds, softer. 

“It's OK.” Jessica answers, sitting next to them. She has a small smile, trying to make the atmosphere lighter. “What do you want to do today?” she says, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean.

“I don't know, what do _you_ want to do?” Sam asks, his hand finding hers, wrapping his fingers around hers.

She gives him a warm curve of her lips. “I heard there was a beautiful park to visit! I mean, we should probably finish to unpack everything but...”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam answers, pressing her hand in his. He turns to Dean. “What do you think?”

Dean moves on his seat. “Actually, I thought I'd go on a walk with Gunner. You know, calm down and see what's around here...” he says, shrugging.

“OK.” Sam says. “But promise me you'll tell me if there's anything wrong.”

Jessica has a little frown and turns to Dean. “What happened? Dean, are you feeling bad?” she says, immediately taking her motherly voice, soft as honey.

“No, no it's fine” he says, shaking his head before he gets up and pushes his chair. “Don't worry about me.” He forces himself to smile at them. “Thanks for last night.” he adds before he leaves the kitchen, rushing to his room to gather his things.

 

In a few minutes, he's entirely dressed and heads out of the house, Gunner following him closely. As he throws a goodbye and opens the door, he hears Jessica's voice and her words stab him right in his wounded heart.

“Love you!” she shouts, and there's such honesty in her words he holds back a sob and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

 

**X**

 

Dean's parked in front of his house but doesn't move. His breaths are short, painful in his chest and it's like there's something itching under his skull, a small evil creature scratching his brain to the blood.

 

If only he knew what was wrong with him, maybe it could help him, or at least take the torment away. He doesn't feel like his days are about to end, but maybe it's just far worse. It means he's condemned to live a long, long life and will let his last breath out when he will be nothing more than an empty shell screaming all day long about monsters living in the woods.

But if he only _knew_   what happened to make him this way. Did he fell down the stairs as a child, shaking his fragile little brain? Did he have a sick aunt locked away for years that he didn't know of but still gifted him with this insanity? Or is it just him? A black sheep, a broken pawn with the wrong genes, with a missing piece?

 

He shivers. He now realizes how it must have felt to his mother when he told her he was seeing monsters. Not an imaginary friend, not a lovely little animal. _Monsters_. Through his mother's wide open eyes and speechless face, he can only imagine what raced in her head.

_My son is seeing things that are not here. He's seeing monsters and he's sure they are here. This is why kids his age don't play with him. He is scaring them. He is insane. He sees things maybe he is seeing them right now. I shouldn't have tell him these stories. He is insane. Oh God, why him? He saw THINGS around us and never said anything, he sees THINGS, he sees THINGS. What am I going to do? He is insane insane insane **insane**._

 

A cold drop of sweat rolls down his spine and he blinks, jumping back into reality. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeats. Then, he opens the door and gets out of the car, Gunner behind him.

A brutal, cold wind is blowing, bending the pines down, making the house creaks with dreadful noises. He gives a look around, and there's such a peace, a soft silence around him, just like before a storm. He feels electricity running in the air, swirling around the ribbons of wind, diving into his veins as his eyes travel on the landscape.

 

His house is the only one for several miles before and after and as he turns around, all he sees are wide pale fields, and this terrifying dark forest of pines covering the whole horizon. On his left, the road leads to Sam and Jessica's house and the city. On his right, it gets out of town, small black snake surrounded by the same dull plains. But in front of him, it's all scented darkness and secrets. The wind sing among the trees, whispering and whispering and it's calling him, in some strange way he refuses to ignore.

His eyes narrow to only focus on the forest. He clenches his teeth and faces it, as if the woods could stare back at him, blowing clouds of pine needles, sap and amber at his face. The breeze becomes icy around him and he could nearly feel frozen sapphires falling onto him like tears from the sky.

 

He sighs deeply before he finally enters the house. He quickly takes a hot shower that leaves him comfortably numb before he gets warmly dressed. He takes a long sip of an old whiskey he kept in a box for God knows how long. It warms him inside and strengthens his blood in his veins, turns the corner of his vision golden.

He grabs Gunner's leash and calls the dog who has a little moment of surprise where he stands without moving, before he rushes to the door Dean opens to him. Once outside, Dean wraps his jacket a bit tighter around him and starts walking to the rusty little gate at the back of his yard. When his fingers touch the cold metal, he feels a little shiver running up his arm, as if he was about to cross a forbidden line.

 

He makes a step and finally his foot touches the tender earth behind his house. He breathes in deeply, tries to empty all his mind of any noisy thoughts and loud static. He looks forward to see a ditch separates him from the field, and he would probably fall into it if he tried to cross it. He sighs and turns to his right to see what could be a small bridge over it, many feet away from him.

Gunner runs in front of him, driven insane by the wild air and empty space around him and it makes Dean smile, a sincere smile spreading on his face as he watches the hound's paws barely touching the ground.

 

As he walks closer to the bridge, he notices the road is getting higher next to him and the path lower, and soon enough, he is completely hidden by the earth. He keeps walking against that long, natural hallway and he feels so alive, his fingertips are burning as if they felt for the first time. His throat aches for it's cold and sore, but he doesn't care. His body is freezing but his soul is getting warmer, starts to pulse softly in his veins, awakening the blood that slept for too long.

 

And he feels more than human. He notices everything, he feels everything. He arrives at the small bridge of stone and crosses it in a few wide steps, his feet finally landing on the soft field. He sees Gunner running in front of him, his brown and white paws getting wet and dirty in the soil, he sees tall red grass shaking in the wind, fragile plants struggling to live in that frozen Hell, trees that face the storm without shedding a tear.

He sees spiderwebs covered of dew, shining like odd pearls in his eyes, he sees wild little flowers growing despite the cold, purple and yellow bubbles among the dull colors. He sees small insects running at his feet, hiding in the mud, he sees crows flying above his head, cawing together in a strange melody. He feels the earth melting under his steps, he feels the cold biting his cheeks and the air filling his lungs like cold flames.

There is a raw, indescribable spirit in the air, something that roots him to the ground, makes him feel like this earth made him, and is the only mother that will never abandon him. He catches himself brushing his fingers against tall grasses and thistles, his hands feeling rough barks and soft autumn leaves.

 

At some point, he turns back and frowns a little when he sees how far the house is from him. Much further than he imagined. It's a little thing standing where the field begins, with his white walls and red old roof. He feels a little confused and doesn't feel the tiredness of all these steps yet, but shrugs and keeps moving on.

 

As he is getting closer to the forest, pines start to appear here and there. The woods don't begin on a perfect straight line as he thought from afar, but step by step, eating the field a little. He starts walking among the tall trees, their shadows weighing down on him. The smells are incredibly strong here: the soil, the pine needles, the smell of burnt from the storm growling in the distance, the puddles of rain in the mud and a few others Dean cannot define. He sees a small clearing, a few feet away and decides to head to it. Strangely and despite the thick gray clouds covering the sky, this part of the forest seems to be illuminated by some bright golden sun, the grass like a divine halo among the trees.

 

Slowly but surely, a feeling starts to settle down in his belly. He doesn't know where it comes from or even when it began, but he feels it deeply inside him now. It's a knot in his guts, a shortness of breath making it harder to walk so fast, an unease that shakes in his stomach like an oily sea, threatening to spill out of his lips. He frowns, worried. He felt more alive than ever a few minutes ago but now his hands shake, his palms are wet, his vision is blurry from time to time. Some kind of evil fever seemed to have taken control of his whole body, and he's no longer the master of his actions.

But stranger and scarier than that, he feels like he's not alone. It's like he's being observed like a curious creature. He hears whispers in the wind, singing lullabies, getting into his skull, turning his thoughts upside down. Bright, colorful flashes of light appears in circle in front of his eyes and he has to blink to chase them away. Every step he makes becomes harder as if something was gripping his ankles and keeping him from moving. He feels like thousands of fingers are pointing at him, mocking laughs echoing in his ears.

 

He shakes his head until it spins, chasing the noise away. He stands motionless for a moment, breathing heavily in the storm as he looks around, startled.

 

Suddenly, a small wisp of dark blue light appears above the ground with a little ethereal sigh. Dean jumps on his feet, his heart racing in his chest. His breath gets stuck in his throat and he hears his blood pumping loud in his ears. He swallows down the gravel he got in his mouth and makes a small, prudent step to the light. His eyes open wide as he gets closer and he notices the creature, if that's anything alive, floating in front of him. It's a small flame, white in the center, going to an icy blue before ending on a shade as dark as the night on the edges. He holds his breath and reaches out to it, waiting to feel the light drip on his fingers. But the second his hand approaches, the wisp disappears and another appears a few feet away with the same soft sigh.

Dean swallows nervously and keeps walking carefully, and he can't believe his eyes, and he is definitely insane. But the vision is so intense, so breathtaking he can't help but think they're real, they're here in front of him. He walks and walks to the little lights, let them guide him and he wishes he could take one in his palm, but they always vanish into the air with sorrowful breaths.

 

Next to him, Gunner is walking slower, glancing around nervously. Dean knows deep inside he should turn back and leave, but his stubborn little mind tells him to keep going, that the forest is testing his strength. He is crossing a gate no human should have opened.

 

Suddenly, the last wisp disappears and Dean is left alone in front of the clearing. There are golden sparks flying before his eyes, beams of electric green light shining between the trees, ashes falling on his head but no more strange blue creatures to whisper his way. He takes a deep breath and realizes there may be no turning back now. He is in the middle of a delirium, the strongest he ever had and he doesn't know if he could ever be the same after something like that.

 

As he is about to enter the clearing, he starts to hear a soft voice singing an odd lullaby with words he doesn't understand. The voice is carried by the wind, both warm and welcoming and ethereal and hypnotic. Dean chases the pain away with a blink of his eyes and steps into the circle of gold, barely breathing. Behind him, Gunner stops walking with a whine, shaking on his paws.

Here is the line between the field and the forest. If the first trees stood as a portal between the two worlds, the woods only become darker and thicker behind the clearing, and Dean cannot see what hides in their depths. He focuses back on where he is and everything he feels.

 

In the little ring of light, the air is warm and tender, barely moving, only whispering in his ear. The pines are tall and hide the sky from him, covering his head with an evergreen crown. The needles perfume the clearing, making his head spin with their soothing yet strong scent. Sap is dripping from the trees, a flow of amber swirling around the trunks in a beautiful and strange dance. The grass is thick and bright, covered of wild flowers, purple and white, pink and blue among the roots. It's like gold is raining from the invisible skies, blessing Dean's soul as he steps further into the warm circle.

He never saw anything like that. Everything is brighter, stronger in this clearing. It feels like this small land belongs to another dimension, a little piece of Heaven sewed to the dirty soil. Bees are buzzing in the bushes that are weighing down under juicy red berries and luminous white butterflies flutter among the trees. Bright fireflies swirl around Dean and his eyes follow them, mesmerized, as translucent dragonflies flutter above a thin stream of clear water, lapping joyfully somewhere on his left. Ferns are growing at his feet, and they almost look fluorescent, just like the moss eating the earth. His eyes are filled with wonder, he barely breathes, afraid he would disturb the peace of this little heavenly corner.

 

The sun shines like flames above him, his soul is ablaze, fizzing of thousands of emotions. There's no more pain, fear or cold in his heart, all his worries are gone, fluttered somewhere else. The lullaby he heard before only grew stronger, a deep, low voice whispering in a honey sweet language. Dean blinks and his eyes fall upon a silhouette sitting on the ground, apparently concentrated on a task he can't define.

For what Dean can see from where he stands, the man has dark brown hair tending to the black. The back of his neck shows a sun kissed skin, while his white shirt embraces his broad shoulders. Dean frowns a little, but rather curious than worried, to see another soul in these inhospitable woods.

 

He approaches, and reaches out to the man. “Excuse me?” he says, a bit nervous to disturb his peace.

 

Once he touched the stranger's shoulder, he only has the time to see him turning back in a jolt and two frightened blue eyes dive into him, before an explosion of celestial light pushes him several feet away.

Dean lands on the soil, his breathing cut by the blast. He lays down, incapable of moving for the pain in his ribs roots him to the ground, tears making his vision blurry as he keeps a scream of agony from crossing the gate of his lips. It's so strong it spreads in his whole body, snakes around his spine, enters his brain, paralyzes his legs and arms and he is helpless, stuck like a broken bird that fell from the nest. He suffers so much he wishes he could die right here, right now, under the pines. He doesn't know how much time he stays like this, motionless and silent, but what he sees when he raises his head freezes his heart to the core.

 

In front of him, an enormous cloud of light floats above the ground, faces him like Heaven itself was looking down on him. If Dean thought the monster he saw in the field was breathtaking, this creature is beyond words.

 

There are sharp limbs covered by a silver skin that shines under the sunlight, as if diamonds were lying underneath. There are at least ten fingers on each hand, all thin like silky threads, electricity pulsing under each fingertips. Amber veins run on all its body, glowing under its skin. The creature looks cold as ice, as if it was holding the whole winter inside its bones, and yet there is a warm, tender aura surrounding it. Several rings of pale fire spins around it, with strange symbols whispering foreign words that soothe Dean, makes him fall into some sort of soft stupor. He holds his breath as his eyes keep travelling on the creature's body.

Small threads of hot light float around it, shivering like fireflies of golden grace. The most incredible is the glow that surrounds it, some kind of holographic veil holding thousands of worlds within. Its colors keep changing every time it moves, as if it was made of crystals, condemned to shine for eternity. Long, pearl colored ribbons are wrapped around the creature's wrists, translucent chains flow like waterfalls from its thin neck. When it takes a deep breath, Dean can see a ruby heart beating like a furious bird behind its ivory ribs.

 

The creature seems as terrified as Dean, taking short, shaking breaths, all its limbs trembling of fear. Dean sits right and observes the vision with eyes filled with wonder. Terror is shaking his hands and knees but he crawls a little more towards the creature, mesmerized by this river of silver light.

When it sees him getting closer, the being has a step back, its chest rising with a milky breath, shaking under the fear. It's like it absorbed all the light in the world, glowing like a beacon in the night and Dean cannot see anything but it. He keeps crawling to it, wanting to observe it, take all this blinding glow into his body, let his bones ignite with all these liquid diamonds. The creature shivers and another blast of light freezes Dean from head to toe.

 

Behind the being, six immense wings spread, unfurl like leaves in spring, flap like great sails in the wind. Each pair is different and each of them takes a piece of Dean's soul with them. One shows feathers as black as the velvet of the night, shooting stars ripping through them, crashing on an invisible land with blows of electric light. One is as white as snow, pure and silent like a winter morning, streams of frozen tears lapping at a forgotten city's shores, church bells ringing through the fog. And finally, the last one is made of long, pale blue ribbons of silk floating in the wind, showing an eternal light, where despair and suffering never existed. All six of them beat silently, with wide moves that create storms on the ground, a few feathers falling down around Dean, as large as his whole body.

 

But the most incredible is the creature's face. It's a spinning galaxy with dozens of bright blue eyes, clear like a summer sky, like the turquoise seas surrounding exotic islands. They all stare at Dean with an infinite curiosity but also with a gentleness that strikes him right in his heart. The creature stares at him silently, tilting its head to one side to observe him better, an innocent and concentrated expression painted on his foggy features, making Dean have a soft laugh, just a little spark of amusement.

The creature's eyes open wide at this strange sound and its light gets a thousand times brighter, as if this simple little melody was the fuel to its fire. Dean catches a move at the corner of his eyes and he raises his head to see one of the being' hands reaching out to him. He holds his breath, fearing the creature has decided to smite this meaningless ant, but his heart stops when its palm cups his cheek like something precious, like a rare and priceless gift from the skies. The touch is tender, warm, loving and Dean feels his lungs dropping into the dark of his body, incapable of breathing anymore. He crawls a little closer to deepen the sensation he feels on his face, like a warm river of honey and clouds flowing on his skin.

 

He is drowning in the being's deep moving eyes, all his soul sucked into its light when Gunner barks and suddenly, the spell is broken and he comes back to reality, ripping himself from the magic and sparks and liquid gold. He blinks and suddenly he sees what anyone sane would have seen at first: a luminous monster beyond words, a cold face that could eat him in one mouthful, an enormous, curious hand _touching_ him, its fingertips burning like ice.

 

His heart starts beating again and he rips himself from the creature's aura, jumping on his feet, stumbling back with distraught breaths. The monster has a hurt little sound, a small moan of pain that pierces Dean's heart. He shakes his head and clenches his fists. The clearing grows colder around him and the fear starts to swallow him whole as dozens of eyes stare at him, full of grief. The creature starts to move towards him but Dean steps back, trembling of terror.

“Don't-” He shivers, the words are burning on his tongue. “Don't get closer!” he shouts.

The being has another sorrowful little cry and makes a step to him, his eyes begging Dean, whose fear only roots deeper.

“I SAID DON'T GET CLOSER YOU MONSTER!” he screams at the top of his lungs and he fears his heart will jump out of his chest.

He stands in front of the creature, breathless, and his blood turns to ice when he sees it moving back and curls up on the ground, getting as small as it can, all its wings folding around it as if to protect itself from Dean's wrath.

 

Gunner barks once again and this time Dean doesn't think twice, he turns back and starts running away from the clearing, from this monster that will surely haunts his dreams forever. The last look he throws to the being only shows him the light slowly fading, the cloud silently collapsing on itself. The smoke vanishes to let a very human silhouette on the ground, all dark hair and eyes looking down at the bright grass and fireflies. At his feet, there's a small crown made of branches and leaves, an innocent little task, a poor remain of a shattered peace.

 

Dean clenches his jaw and turns around once again, running as fast as he can to the house, Gunner close behind and he runs and runs, the house in focus and he begs his body to carry him away from that nightmare. Because this time, there are two options.

 

One, he is insane and he would rather die than see this kind of _thing_ again.

Two, it was real and his whole world has just been burnt to the ground.

 

**X**

 

Dean spends the two next weeks in the thickest fog he ever had to walk through. All his days start and end the same. He turns into a cold machine.

 

He barely sleeps, his nights haunted by luminous visions, cries of grief, very human blue eyes filled with hurt, overlaid by wings and halos and hands reaching out to him. He wakes up at **5 a.m** every morning, shaking and bloodless, looking nervously around him as he tries to calm his distraught breathing and heartbeats. He then walks Gunner, and even if he's terrified by the night surrounding him, only pierced by old, flashing lampposts, he knows nothing can get him, not so far from the forest. He doesn't see it but he knows it's here, always on his right, dark and threatening, ready to call him into its poisonous arms.

He then takes a shower, tries to burn his brains and skin with the water, tries to wash all his mind of all this madness. But behind his closed eyelids, the pictures are still flashing, as if he was tied to one of this attraction that spins so fast you feel like dying.

 

His shift is only beginning at 6 p.m but he nearly begged Daria to accept him outside the evening. As she frowned at him and began to worry, he found the excuse he was bored and alone in his little house, and could do anything she wanted for free. Helping with ordering, cleaning the bar and restaurant, planning each evenings… He would just do anything not to give his mind the time to sink into dark thoughts.

He reaches home late each night, sometimes at midnight, sometimes after that. He barely has the strength to get something to eat and get a shower before he collapses on his bed, exhausted but comfortably empty, Gunner laying by his side, his calm breathing dragging him into sleep.

 

He sees Sam and Jessica sometimes, drop by their flower shop to help them or just to assure them he is very alive and well. They are beaming of joy, shining like suns in a gray town. All is going perfectly for them: they settled down in their house, are enjoying everything they discovered around the city, and finally opened their shop in the center, where all cars passed and couldn't missed it. At first, they were a little afraid they were throwing themselves into something mad, and even Dean was a bit skeptical. But an intrigued crowd flowed to them at the moment they opened.

 

Days passed and the customers kept getting more numerous every time. Each morning began differently, and was painted by different aspects of mankind, to their greatest joy. They saw shy young lovers getting tulips, small kids buying one or two daisies, an old man buying dark, velvety roses for his beloved wife's grave, men buying enormous compositions and young ladies getting colorful little bouquets on their own. Dean would stay with them and he admitted he felt a lot better among the soft colors and scents, love and devotion floating in the shop every time the bell above the door rang.

 

Both Sam and Jessica look at him with this deeply worried expression but he would brush it off, always saying he needs a little more time to settle down and he would be fine. After all he was functioning like anybody else: working, eating, sleeping. That was the principle of any life, wasn't it? Their gaze would only become darker and they often offered to have dinner with him, or just stay with him for as long as he needed. But he would shake his head, saying once again everything was fine.

He would leave the shop with a smirk to Sam when a customer would spend twenty minutes changing his order, but his brother couldn't let out a laugh. Despite his happiness with Jess, he kept feeling so sorrowful for Dean. Because despite the appearance he wanted to give himself, it was obvious Dean wasn't _fine_. He was barely existing, smiling like a broken machine, saying what he thought Sam wanted to hear.

 

He is now at the end of his third week after his encounter with the creature. It's Sunday. He spent the two last ones infusing in liquor and sleeping pills and planned to do the same today, but he soon realized he had none left. The bar is closed and he has nothing else to do but stay inside, alone with his thoughts. Sam and Jessica went to visit a city a few hours away, and though they did invite him, he wanted to give them some space.

He tries to watch TV for a while, but the images are too colorful, they burn his eyes. The sounds are too loud, they dive knives in his head and he winces of pain before he shuts it down. He tries to sleep, but there's a war raging in his skull, throwing bombs, gas and fire, making his eyelids flutter. He sighs and gets up, walks around in the house, his hands gripping his hair. He walks in circles, going from room to room, searching for something, anything, that could help him diving his mind into a task and get these evil thoughts away. He cleans the house a little but it doesn't take long, and soon enough all the walls smell like bleach again.

 

He finally stops in front of the back door. The field is frozen outside and a timid silver light shines on it, covering it of a wide magical glow. His eyes slide on the forest and his heart aches a little as he gets outside and sits on the small stairs, Gunner by his side, his head leaning gently against his chest.

The wind is glacial and Dean shivers, but it somehow makes him feel better. He was suffocating in the house, his back covered by a hot sweat he couldn't wash away. All his body was boiling inside and he felt like he was about to burst. Here, he feels pure, appeased by the breeze that sings into his ear. He closes his eyes and let the woods calm his heart.

 

During these three eternal weeks, he thought a lot about the creature. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it shining in the shadow of the pines, glowing like a fire in the night. He still feels its warm palm against his cheek, his gentle yet powerful aura surrounding him. He still feels like his breath is taken away by something divine, something drawing him to this being with thousands of luminous threads.

A strange feeling shakes in his stomach. It felt right to run away from that apparition, he knows anyone sane would have done the same. But there's something else. Something that tastes too much like guilt. Every time he breathes he remembers the little cry of pain the creature had when he stepped back, the pure pain painted on all its shivering wings when he shouted at it.

 

He bites his tongue to the blood, trying to chase the feeling, telling himself it's not right. If that _thing_ was real, then he should be scared. He should be terrified a cloud of smoke and light lives behind his house, he should be shivering at the very thought it landed its hands on him. He should try to forget all about it.

And yet, every time he thinks about something else, the vision reappears, brighter than ever, feeling like acid in his veins. His eyes get blurry and Daria or Sam often have to wake him up from his daydreams. He shouldn't feel anything about it, he shouldn't feel bad for hurting it. It's not human, it's monstrous. He remembers too well Annie's words, telling him people went missing into these very woods. What if this creature took them? Caged them, killed them, ate them? He doesn't care, this thing shouldn't exist.

 

As he caresses Gunner's head, he thinks about the crown the creature was making when he arrived, when it still looked very much human. He thinks about the terrifying nightmares he had about it, colored by broken bones, rivers of blood and puddles of melted flesh. He can't put the two pictures together.

Something doesn't fit. The being didn't look threatening, and Dean wonders if its sudden change of shape was only caused by his arrival. What if it was just a way to protect itself from a possible enemy?

 

Dean shakes his head and dives his eyes into the forest. He thinks of how good he felt for a few moments, in the being's soft and warm aura. He thinks of the way Gunner's bark was the only thing that ripped him from the magical world he fell into. Maybe his idea of what was real or not, right or wrong, kept him from trying to understand the creature. Maybe he acted like a fool.

 

He takes a deep breath and an idea blooms in his head, roots deep in his brains. He gets up and opens the door, forces Gunner to get inside as the dog gives him an intrigued, hurt look. He then turns back to the woods and clenches his fists. He is definitely insane.

He starts walking to the woods, taking the same path he used weeks ago. The frozen soil creaks under his feet, crows are still ripping through the air like black arrows. A thin drizzle is falling, but he barely feels it. The wind is blowing strong and cold, and he shudders in his simple plaid and t-shirt. He should have grabbed a coat but his heart made him rush to the forest without thinking.

 

After what seemed an eternity he starts to see pines around him, before he finally crosses the first part of the forest. He walks for a while between field and woods, surrounded by dying nature. Dripping water froze during the night, giving trees translucent teeth. The woods are very silent, compared to the day he first entered them. There's not a noise, a breathing, a whisper. Just the sound of his boots diving into the mud and frost.

He makes a few more steps and suddenly he feels the air is different around him. He raises his head to see he has entered the clearing. The ethereal atmosphere is still here and he still sees the sparks of gold and silver floating around him. But it's empty of any life.

Dean can't help but feel a little disappointed as he walks to the center of the clearing, turning around, hoping he will notice something. If the creature was here, he would obviously notice it. But his eyes keep jumping from bush to bush, hoping he will see a hand, a feather, a halo coming out of it, in vain.

 

For long minutes he stays here, motionless, his breaths creating white clouds in front of him as he shivers violently, his body threatening to fall on the ground. He looks around, his arms wrapped around him in an attempt to warm himself up but nothing comes. He is alone and cold, angry at himself to have let his instinct guide him.

He grits his teeth and is about to leave when he notices a small detail on the ground. He frowns and walks to it, before he sits on his knees to pick it up. It's the crown the creature was peacefully making before he arrived. It's made of small branches entwined with large leaves that are strangely bright green, as well with smaller, deep red ones. Moss and fern are tied to it, with small prickly dark leaves and red berries. There are also odd threads of gold among them and Dean narrows his eyes to look at it better. He never felt a real interest in art, and definitely not into wild leaves crown, but there's a true finesse in this work, as if the creature spent hours and hours tying all the elements together.

 

Dean wonders why it left it here. It looked as if it was quite precious to the being, but it ran off without bothering about it. The crown tingles a little in Dean's hands, and he swears he sees the golden threads shine in his palms. His breath is suddenly sucked into his lungs as one little leaf unfurls to wraps itself around one of his finger, creating like a green ring around it.

He looks at it speechless, blinking several times like an idiot. The idea he's insane drifts away, and suddenly, he wishes all of this is real, more than ever. When all his existence feels dull and gray, he only desires these odd magic tricks exist, and not only in his head.

A childish, blissful grin spreads on his lip. If the wind is still brutal and glacial, the colors are getting warmer around him, a few sounds start to rustle in the bushes. He raises his head and sees the pines slowly moving in waves under the breeze, an evergreen sea above him. Needles fall down around him, perfuming the air with that strong and particular scent. He sees the skies are getting darker, in that shade between the blue and the gray, but he doesn't mind. He is always afraid, but not in this moment.

 

He is watching fireflies flying in a soft golden swarm around him when a voice strikes like lightning in his chest, burns his heart and makes its ashes fly.

“You shouldn't be here.”

 

Dean's head snaps to this sudden sound but he only sees thick darkness filling the space between the trees. The magic and warmth he felt a few seconds before disappears, the illusion shattered, broken. He realizes how cold he is and he starts to worry. His limbs are numb, he barely feels his legs under him. His hands are shaking, his teeth are chattering, and it feels like the whole brutal autumn came into his soul.

His eyes search the body that holds this deep, low voice but it's like it's hiding from him. It sounds vaguely familiar, though he is sure he never heard it before, or maybe only in his dreams. He blinks, icy crystals on his eyelashes, his skin turning blue. He doubts it's another human talking to him, for no one would be mad enough to walk into these haunted woods, as the weather keeps getting more and more threatening each second.

“I'm- I'm sorry” he whispers before he can even think of the words coming out of his mouth, his eyes scanning the blackness around.

He tries to get up but his limbs stopped working, leaving him helpless among a hostile forest like a wounded animal surrounded by wolves. The crown that was on his lap fell on the frozen ground, creasing a few tender leaves.

“Shit” he says as he tries to grab it back, before he feels a burning fever eating his guts, paralyzing him. The cold is starting to devour him from the inside and his body tries to fight back the best it can. He mutters behind his sore lips and tries to get up, finally manages to be completely standing. He has a satisfied smile that fades away the second after, as his legs shake under him and he falls back on the ground.

 

Except he never touches the soft soil covered of moss.

 

Dean raises his head to face two bright blue eyes silently staring at him. A little surprised breath escapes his lips as he realizes the stranger came out of the shadows and wrapped an arm around his back before he fell on the frozen ground.

“It was reckless of you to come here” the stranger says, helping him standing right. “It's too cold for humans.”

Dean blinks, a little dazed. “So is it for you” he mutters, before he starts to shake his limbs a little to warm his body.

“I'm no human.”

 

Dean stops moving and breathing. He turns once again and moves back a little to look at the stranger. His eyes meet serious blue ones before they travel on dark brown hair tending to the black, a clenched jaw covered by a slight shadow, sun kissed skin and a white shirt which collar is open for a few buttons.

Dean frowns and he looks back at the man's face. “I know you” he whispers, as flashes illuminate his mind, taking him back to weeks ago.

“I would not say that” the man answers and his eyes are two hard rocks, not letting an emotion shine through. “Is this form less overwhelming to you?” he suddenly asks, making Dean blink several times, confused. 

“What are-” he starts before his eyes open wide and he finally ties the loose ends together. He knows why this dark hair and clear eyes remind him of something. He already saw them through blurry glimpse, what feels an eternity ago. And now he remembers too well of how he treated the creature when it revealed its true form to him.

 

Unconsciously, he has a little jump back, his heart thundering in his chest. A discreet glimpse of pain passes by the man's eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asks in a whisper.

“No, no” Dean begins, incapable of finding the words as he looks at the stranger, mouth wide open. He can't believe his eyes. “It's just… It's just weird to see you like… _this_.” As the man seems to wait for him to continue, he stutters, his gaze still travelling on his silhouette. “When you're not that shiny kind of thing, I mean when you're… human?”

The stranger has a little sigh and Dean notices he is still holding him so he doesn't fall. “I apologize if I scared you.” he says. “I didn't mean to.”

“Scared me?” Dean repeats, all his being jumping like wild water in his lungs. “I thought it was amazing! Like, freaking unbelievable!”

The man stares at him for a moment without saying anything, doubtful. “Yes, I saw that” he finally says, with what could be a hint of sarcasm in his voice, leaving Dean speechless. He definitely can't believe this dark stranger is the same powerful, glowing creature he saw in the woods weeks ago. 

He is about to say something when the man starts walking, dragging him with him. Dean blinks, confused, giving the clearing a desperate look behind them. “What are you doing?” he asks, his energy too low to protest. 

“Taking you home” the dark haired man answers with no further explanation.

“What? But what if I don't want to?!” Dean exclaims, frowning of confusion.

“If you stay here, you're going to die” the stranger calmly says. “Besides, you're lucky I'm the one who find you. Otherwise, you would probably be already dead.”

 

It ends Dean's protestations.

 

They get out of the woods, the pines disappearing one by one until they face the wide frozen field. Dean is about to step into it before a searing pain spreads in his chest. He freezes with a little strangled noise of agony and bents in half, paralyzed by the feeling.

The stranger frowns, worried, and leans to speak to him, his hold on him tightening. “What is happening?” he asks.

“I dunno” Dean whispers, struck by the pain. “I guess no sleep, no breakfast and walk in the cold aren't as healthy as I thought” he says, wincing, but with a slight smirk at his irony. He stands right again, slowly, carefully, afraid he will feel the awful sensation again.

The man next to him sighs. “You're mostly cold” he says before there's a wide rustling sound behind them.

Dean has a little laugh. “No, really?” he says as they start walking again.

Dean sighs of ease as he suddenly feels warmer, as if a little gentle sun was shining right on him. He feels the heat like a silky veil around him, stronger where his shoulder is pressed against the man's body. He sees the house appearing on the horizon, its tall white walls standing bright in front of him. He has a small smile before a soft touch on his left hand makes him turn away.

His heart turns into a block of ice, sinks into the dark waters in his chest.

 

“What the-” he exclaims, now making a real step aside, ripping himself from the man's hold, barely standing on his own two legs. “What's that?!” he shouts at him, shivering violently.

The stranger now gives him a look full of grief. “Just let me bring you home” he says, closing the space between them.

“What are you?!” Dean shouts, making himself hoarse.

The man stops, gives him a sorrowful, desperate glance that throws cold water on Dean's anger. He closes his mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for acting like a maniac once again. He was just not ready to see what he is seeing. And now that he realizes how breathtaking it is, he can't help but lose himself in silent wonder.

 

Behind the man, two immense wings are spread wide. Their long, sharp feathers look like ribbons of milky silk. They have a soft, soapy color, between the white and the light blue, reminding Dean of the quiet snowy mornings he enjoys so much. Fluorescent blue veins striate the flesh underneath, looking like lightning bolts have been caged under the feathers. These ones are shimmering under the dull light, as if they were made of smooth blades of ice and crystals. Every time the man moves them, the sun shines differently on them, tainting the feathers of every colors Dean know.

 

Dean only realizes he stopped breathing when his chest starts to hurt again. He takes a deep breath and tries to ease his heart beating like a war drum behind his ribs. “Sorry.” he says, walking back next to the stranger who gives him a side look that's no so much tainted by sorrow but rather by something scarier, as if he was expecting this reaction since the beginning.

“No, I'm sorry. I should have asked first” he says as Dean carefully stands back next to him, worried he would hurt a feather or two.

They walk for a moment in a heavy silent, their breaths white in the air in front of them. Dean feels a knot weighing down on his stomach and he grits his teeth at the idea he acted so disgusted in front of such a marvelous thing. He bets anyone would kill to be where he is right now. He can't help throwing little glances at the wing wrapped around him like a heavenly cover, warm like a sun in his back.

 

Finally, he dares to speak. “I'm sorry” he whispers again, his head slightly turning to the man. 

“For what?” he answers with a frown that darkens his eyes.

“Everything” Dean answers with a somber look to the house. Is the man going to drop him on the stairs and leave him forever?

There's a heartbeat, a flutter of wings before the other man answers. “You don't need to. You acted like every human would have acted.” 

“That doesn't make me feel better” Dean says with a joyless laugh. “Can I ask you something?” he suddenly says, turning to the stranger. 

“No” he answers in a crystal clear voice, striking Dean right in his chest, for a reason he doesn't understand yet. 

“Why not?” he asks, frowning.

“I shouldn't be talking to you right now” the man answers before he has a look behind. “I shouldn't be helping you.”

“Then why did you?” Dean asks and this time, it's the stranger's turn to give him a surprised look.

He stares at him for a moment, his steps only guided by the wind around him and the earth at his feet. Dean loses his breath as he dives deeper and deeper into his clear eyes. Then. “I couldn't let you die.”

Dean blinks, startled. “But you don't know me” he says, incredulous. “And I didn't make the best impression when we met!” he adds, wincing both at the pain and the memories that give him the urge to hit himself in the face.

“I know” the man softly answers, making Dean turn to him. “But it felt like I knew you before. I couldn't leave you out in the cold.”

His words leave colorful footprints on Dean's soul. For a reason he ignores, he is strangely drawn to this man he doesn't even know, as if threads were tangled around them both, keeping them together in one piece, in one being.

 

“Are you an angel?” he blurts, the cold causing his brain to speak before him.

The man has a soft little laugh that bursts into Dean, makes him stare at the stranger with a mouth half open of surprise. “No I'm not” he finally says, with a smile creating crinkles at the corner of his eyes. “I'm not even sure they exist.” 

Dean keeps staring at him, incredulous. “So you're telling me you're some kind of glowing winged spirit living in the woods but you don't believe in angels? Or God?”

“Do you?” the stranger says, turning his head to him, silver sparks floating in his eyes, diving knives in Dean's heart.

“No” he answers. “But I'm no magical creature.”

“You only need a God when you need a reason to exist” the man says in a breath. “I believe we're here, that is all. You cannot spend an entire existence questioning the fact we are living, or you cannot pretend you've ever lived at all.”

 

Dean blinks, left struck by lightning like a bird in the storm. He sees they have arrived at the gate of his house in the corner of his eye, but he cannot rip his gaze from that strange man. Never in his life he had met someone like him. Sure, it was not everyday you would meet an inhuman creature after following a trail of luminous smokes, but never in his existence he felt like he would never be the same after meeting someone.

He sighs, and walks a little to let his fingers fall on the cold metal. He reaches out to the gate, opening it with a dreadful sound that resonates in his bones. He steps into the frozen grass of the yard when he realizes a warmth is missing. He turns around to see the man stopped before his gate.

 

Dean gives him a confused look and the man's wings drop a little, in an almost imperceptible way. “I think it's better if I leave you here, if you don't need my help any further” he says, diving his eyes into his.

“No- I mean yes, no, no that's not what I meant” Dean blurts before he finally steadies his breath. “You're not going be in any trouble, hm?” he asks, worried.

“Not if I come back soon enough” the stranger answers with a slight smile.

Dean walks slowly to the gate until he's facing the man, the line between his yard and the field as thin as a silver string. “Thank you, for saving me” he says in a coarse voice.

“It was nothing” the man answers, his feathers rustling in the wind. His eyes appear brighter than the sun, even in the dull light.

“Am I going to I see you again?” Dean hears himself say in a sudden rush of panic.

The stranger freezes a little under the shock and stares at him, surprised for a moment before he blinks. “I don't think that would be wise” he whispers.

Dean's heart drops into the dark. “Oh” he mutters, and he tries to find something else to say to that dark stranger whose hair and wings dance in the brutal wind but his mind is devoid of any sensible thoughts.

“You shouldn't go into the woods anymore” the man says as Dean notices for the first time there's a pale blue aura floating around him, a discreet lunar glow. “Aren't you well with other humans?” he asks, tilting his head to one side, mirroring what the creature did. Once again, Dean has hard time seeing them as only one thing.

“I wouldn't say that, no” he says before he lowers his head, noticing he is shaking violently again.

 

There's a moment where time floats lazily around him, before he catches a move in front of him. The second after, the man's palm is on his chest, right on his heart, and a bright light spreads inside, calming the shivers and torment. He closes his eyes, let the feeling flow free behind his eyelids. When he opens them again, the stranger is just a breath away, doubt swirling in his stare, darkened by a worried frown.

“I'm sorry” He says as he finally moves back and dives his eyes into his. “Goodbye, Dean Winchester.”

Dean raises his head suddenly, his heart racing in his chest as he sees the man walking away from the yard, his luminous wings half spread behind him. He knows he doesn't deserve to ask questions, and he doesn't deserve the short time he spent with that being, but it burns his tongue.

“Who are you?” he asks in a whisper.

The man's silhouette stops, wings shivering in the breeze. For a moment, Dean fears he will disappear forever, vanish into the air to never shine again. But then he turns around and catches his eyes once again.

“Castiel” he says. “My name is Castiel.”

 

And he walks away, leaving a haunting melody in Dean's heart, as he watches him get across the field, still standing in the cold long after his bright aura completely disappeared into the woods.

 

**X**

 

Dean spends a strange week. He's floating between two moods, each of them like waves crashing one after another.

 

Some days he's lost in some sort of heavenly fog, eyes lost into space even when he was focused on a task a second before, to Daria's greatest amusement. She often mocks him, always with gentleness, even if her look hides a little worry for his odd state. He lays awake at night, eyes wide open as his mind keeps flashing the most colorful memories he possesses. He cannot stop them, they're a flood crashing onto him and he lets them wash everything away. He can't help but drowns into wonder and every time he closes his eyes, he breathes the forest, he feels the celestial light on his skin, he sees blue irises staring at him, wings like pale stained glass windows, he keeps hearing a soft, low voice talking to him as he's carried through a muddy field.

Other days, a dark cloud casts its shadow on these tender memories and Dean falls into a black mood, acid rushing though his veins. He clenches his fists when he looks at the field, knowing no tall silhouette will come out of the woods. He could have tried to come into the forest once again, but he's sure it won't change a thing.

 

He once felt powerful emotions, he once felt wonder and admiration for the world surrounding him but it's slowly fading away, going back to the usual gray ponds flooding his head. On these awful hours, he becomes a machine again, finding it hard to breathe when he has to walk into a dull, meaningless universe every morning. He wishes nothing had happen, and he wishes he had seen more. He wishes he could forget, and he wishes he could live it forever.

 

He can't explain it but he felt closer to a creature that could probably smite him in the blink of an eye than any humans he met before. Maybe it's his fear of abandonment, maybe his devouring loneliness. He doesn't know, he doesn't care. All he can say is that it felt good, it felt _right_. As if he had been waiting his whole life to meet Castiel, to find someone to confide into. Or maybe he just desperately needs a friend, and he is throwing himself into something he could never have.

He knows he has a strength buried somewhere, something that will help him getting over that sudden rush of emotion. He needs to forget or he will never go on. He tries to drown himself in work, in TV or alcohol, but none of them work. No matter how numb and filled with static his head is, this monstrous cloud of thoughts keep twisting to be colored by wings and light and eyes again.

 

Every time he walks Gunner, he feels this presence, this spirit calling him when there's no one around. He feels the threads deep into his flesh, pulling him to the forest and he grits his teeth and keeps walking on the dark road, ignoring the evergreen sea.

After too many sleepless nights and burning showers that left him numb and sore, he finally thinks it's over. He's back into sanity, he's ready to start a new life, a real one, not a twisted fantasy in his head. He will hang out with his co-workers, he will spend time with Sam and Jessica, he will come with them to whatever museum they find and he will start enjoying normal things. No more dark fairytale to fill his empty mind.

 

That's what he promised himself to do, until he wakes up with a start one night, awaken by noises outside. He breathes heavily, as Gunner is already up, growling in the hallway, but not daring to move further. Dean gets up, shaking as it feels like the whole house became ten times colder.

 

He walks down the corridor, regretting he doesn't have any weapon to defend himself. If some freak broke into his house, he will be helpless. He could just stand in the middle and shout to the killer to end him right here, right now, it'd be the same.

He arrives in the living room, his throat tight of fear. The full moon shines by the open shutters that slams on the walls, a strong wind blowing outside. He swallows down, cold and afraid and looks around. The door and windows are still closed, nothing seems to have moved. Gunner stands behind him, silent this time, observing the room without a noise. Dean holds his breath and suddenly he hears it again.

 

 _Screams_.

 

He hears battle cries outside, monstrous sounds of wrath that freeze his blood. They are barely audible but resonates into his bones. They come from the depths of the woods and when he turns to the glass door, he swears he sees smoke and fire rising above the pines.

 

Thinking his mind is playing tricks on him, he turns to go back to his room, before he hears a different noise. A metallic creaking that makes a shiver run down his spine. It's the kind of noise a gate makes when it's opened. It can only mean one thing: there's somebody outside.

This time, his heart jumps into his chest and he faces the door, his fists clenched, his mind going blank. He now sees a silhouette in his yard, standing tall under the bright moon. Dean tastes a breath between his lips, too afraid of releasing it. He doesn't know if the intruder can see him from where he is, but he feels like thousands of eyes are looking at him.

 

He waits for the man to finally enters the house and he is ready to fight, even if he's still heavy of sleep and alcohol. But to his greatest surprise, the silhouette stops in the middle of the yard, then collapses on the ground.

 

Dean opens wide eyes, too surprised to react at first. A part of him tells him to go back to bed and hope the drunkard who entered his yard by mistake will be gone. The other part tells him he should probably go and check on him. What if the guy has a problem and tells the police a creep just stood in his house and watched him falling without doing anything? The last thing Dean needs is the cops questioning him. Knowing how unpredictable his mind he is, he could probably confess something without wanting to.

He walks slowly to the glass door and sees the man is still there, laying on his stomach, head in the soil. A strange feeling shakes in Dean's belly as he opens the door, shivering as the cold wind rushes into the room.

“Hello?” he shouts to the man. “Are you OK?”

Silly question. He's probably not OK, since he's laying in the dirt, in a garden that's not his, at 4 a.m.

 

As Dean keeps getting closer, he notices an odd shape on the man, as if something was draped over his body. Something that looks covered of large scales. Dean frowns, before the moon shines a little brighter among the clouds and the scales seem to shine with thousands of different colors. He holds his breath.

It's not scales. It's feathers.

 

Dean runs to the silhouette and falls on his knees next to it. He rolls the man on his back, doing his best to avoid any damage on his wings. As soon as he is laying this way, the man spits a wave of dark liquid. Something thick and dreadful that lets Dean think it's blood.

The man's eyes open suddenly, letting a flickering blue light pierce the black night. They dive into his soul and the threads are back, tying themselves between them, golden ribbons of light stitching their wounds.

“Help me” the man whispers in a familiar, low voice. “Please” he begs, lightning striking in his eyes that shine like jewels in the dark, as if they were ponds of lunar glow.

Dean cannot breathe, he forgot how to. On the man's white shirt, a flower of dark blood blooms and spreads its roots on his ribs, makes him suffocate and ache on the ground. He coughs and coughs, the light in his eyes fading a little as one of his hands suddenly grips Dean's t-shirt.

“Please” he repeats, agony piercing in his voice.

 

He didn't need to ask a second time. At the moment Dean saw him, he knew there will be no turning back now. No matter what he had decided to do to begin a new life, it was soon shattered and thrown into the Empty.

He passes an arm under the man's body and helps him getting up, his bones shivering of cold and adrenaline. He walks to the house as fast as he can, and enters this warm shelter, Castiel's blood dripping on his skin.

 


	2. Life

Dean lays him on the couch the best he can, clenching his jaw of worry when Castiel has a strangled little cry of pain, as the blood keeps flowing out of the wound. One of his wings is folded on his side, the long feathers appearing as white as snow on the rough leather, the other is half spread on the floor, shivering under the ache.

“Are you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?” Dean says, a little lost as a magical creature is dying in his home that was so calm a few moments before.

“I'm sorry” Castiel says before he winces, closing his eyes to bear the hot fever spreading in his guts. “I didn't know where else to go.”

Dean rolls his eyes, exasperated despite the emergency of the situation. “I'm not talking about you breaking into my yard. I'm talking about you freaking bleeding to death!” he says in a rough voice, making Castiel flinches.

“It's a long story” he mutters behind his clenched teeth.

 

Dean sighs but doesn't ask any further. He first needs to evaluate the damage. He opens Castiel's shirt on his belly to discover an ugly wound spurting blood out of the flesh, a little under his ribs. No bullet ripped though the skin, but what seems to be a very sharp blade dived in Castiel's stomach, and Dean feels nauseous, his mind forcing him to imagine the sensation of the icy knife twisting in his guts, searching around, digging into his bones. The handle of the knife seems to have spikes or claws, for it left bright red punctures on Castiel's skin.

 

He swallows down the bile that rose in his throat and tries to focus on his task. He already saw wounds, and not the kind of little pink scars people are so afraid of. It's rather the kind of gaping holes in a man's chest, metallic pieces that melted into a face, bullets that got stuck in hearts and lungs. But a knife wound? He never saw that. He doesn't know what to do, except pressing his hands on the gaping hole, blood flowing fast and thick between his fingers. Soon, his skin is tainted in bright red and his heart is racing, his breathing heavy and painful inside him.

He tries to think, tries to find something. Castiel is staring at him with a desperate expression, the light in his eyes fading more and more each second. Dean looks at his hands covered of dark blood and it feels like he is trying to keep the sea from flooding a city. He has no control over what's happening and if he doesn't do something quickly, he will have a death on his conscience.

He passes a hand in his hair, realizing too late it now must be thick and sticky, covered in black liquid grace. He looks around, breathing so fast and deep he thinks his lungs will burst inside him, before his eyes open a little wider.

 

He gets up and runs to his room, his heart thundering behind his ribs, threatening to begin a whole storm that will keep him from moving any further. He grabs a bottle of whiskey he hid in a drawer. Sam offered it to him and so he decided to keep it for a special occasion. He supposes a spirit of the woods dying on his couch is special enough to open it. He runs to the bathroom and turns it upside down to find the suture kit, the one his dad once gave him. At the time, he didn't understand how this would ever be useful, but now he thanks whatever is in the sky to have it. He grabs a towel and a few bandages too.

He runs back to the living room, Gunner following him quite a few steps behind, his body tense and nervous as he sits in the corner of the room, glancing at Castiel with a frightened expression.

“Alright,” Dean says, crouching next to Castiel, his hands shaking so much he nearly drops the bottle of liquor. He opens it with all the strength he has left, the raw smell of alcohol immediately filling his brain, making the world spin around him. “It's gonna hurt like a bitch, so you should probably drink this up before I start.”

Castiel raises his head a little, at the price of the pain getting only stronger and hotter in his belly. His skin seems paler, cold sweat covering his face as he tries to look at what Dean's handing him. “What is it?” he croaks in a weak whisper.

“Scotch” Dean answers, tucking the bottle against Castiel.

He is not sure he can do this with the fear making him shiver violently, but he has no other way than dealing with this alone. It's not like he can drive Castiel to the nearest hospital. He wonders what would come first: the blade wound part or the wings part. Though he is pretty sure he saw Castiel in his human form without his wings. Still, he doesn't know how he could explain he drove him to the hospital with this unusual injury when he barely knows the man.

He raises his head to see Castiel gives a frowning look to the bottle, considering it as if could blow up in his face. Dean sighs before he tries to put the thread in the needle. “Don't worry, it's not going to kill you” he says.

When he turns to the being again, this one gives him a doubtful look but still swallows a big mouthful of liquor. The second after, his features twist into a disgusted expression, making Dean have a little laugh. “Yeah, I know.”

“Is it supposed to stop the pain?” Castiel asks, laying back on the couch, his head falling a little too heavily to mean anything good. His eyelids are fluttering quickly, as if he was fighting against sleep.

“No” Dean answers, though he is not completely convinced of his words. He experienced it before. He knows the right amount he has to sip to fall into a numb, painless fog. “But it'll help” he adds, not wanting to dig further. “Hold on, I'm starting.” he says as he wipes another wave of blood with the towel.

 

Castiel's hands grip the leather under him, as his wings become tense as bows, freezing as he prepares himself for the pain to come. He closes his eyes and Dean has a little moment where he gets lost. There's a creature bottled up into this human body, something that could snap him out of existence, and yet it's completely confiding in him. He has the life of something as powerful and breathtaking as Castiel in his hands and he is not sure he is strong enough. But he doesn't have a choice. The golden threads tying him to Castiel are getting loose and he fears they are going to break soon.

He gives Castiel a last look, and sees a pale blue glow floating around him. It's beautiful and yet there is a sick feeling in the way it pulses, as if it was a wounded animal giving its last breaths.

 

Dean takes a deep breath and turns back to Castiel's belly, covered of thick red blood. He clenches his jaw and takes the bottle from him. He glances a very last time at Castiel before he pours the alcohol right on the wound, getting a half surprised, half agonizing scream from him. His wings have a wide brutal beat and Dean lowers his head, afraid he is going to get hit by accident. The golden liquor dives into the wounded flesh and Castiel's wings drop, shivering as tears of pure agony roll right on the hot leather.

 

Dean feels bad for getting him into more pain but he has to do something, otherwise he's not sure Castiel will even pass the night. He holds his breath, steadies his heartbeats before he dives the needle under the flesh, his stomach on the tip of his tongue. Each time the metallic claw bites him, Castiel has a little jolt, trying to keep the screams inside, biting his tongue to the blood.

His entire body is shivering violently, big drops of sweat running on his skin. Dean can feel the fever surrounding him, as Castiel's veins start to glow blue under his skin. Dean has a little jump of surprise at their sight but he immediately dives back into his task, a frown scarring his forehead as he focuses on each stitch, trying not to worsen the pain currently twisting and snapping in Castiel's entire body like an evil parasite.

 

Dean finishes the last stitch and carefully cuts the thread, his vision getting blurry on the edges. He grabs a compress and puts it gently on Castiel's now clean wound, before he makes a quick bandage to hold it in place. When he is sure everything is alright, he sighs and his body moves by itself. He sits heavily on the floor, leaning on the small table next to the couch. He has the most terrible headache he has ever felt, his palms are wet and covered of blood and it feels like there are fire licking his skin, a whole damn Hell burning under him. He closes his eyes and allows himself a few seconds of respite.

“Thank you” he hears from a hoarse, shaking voice. It's barely a whisper.

Dean opens his eyes to see Castiel's head has turned to him and the being gives him a little weak smile. Dean can't help but answer with the same curve of his lip. “You' welcome” he mutters, exhausted as he crawls closer to the couch.

Castiel stares at him without a word, his tired blue eyes barely shining. He folded his wings close to his body, probably to give himself some warmth. “You saved me” he softly says after a moment.

Dean dives his eyes into his. “Didn't want a dead body on my couch.” he answers but when he sees Castiel's eyes opening wide of shock, he has a little laugh. “I'm joking. I'm just returning the favor. You saved me when I was out of my mind in those damn woods.”

Castiel hums and tries to roll on his side, but the move triggers the pain and he goes back to his position, wincing. Dean gives him a concerned look.

“You need anything?” he asks, examining his features. “Water? Blanket? More scotch?”

“I don't want to bother you.” Castiel answers in a whisper, adjusting himself on the couch, his eyelids now too heavy to open them again.

“Right.” Dean says. The silence falls between them for a moment. It's a soft kind of heaviness, a thick layer of dust covering them both, freezing them in time. His eyes get lost into space, and he realizes his breathing has slowed down, and he is strangely calm, appeased in some strange way. He doesn't have the energy to get up anymore and he just sits there, watching Castiel's eyelids fluttering. The moon shines bright and enormous by the windows, the field is covered by a ghostly halo, as well with the tall pines, standing dark and cold in the night. Gunner has curled up into a ball next to him and breathes softly in his slumber.

His head is getting heavier, all his body warm and numb, and he remembers he was sleeping not so long ago. The comfort of his bed seems so far away he thought he was awaken by these dreadful screams hours ago, when in fact the clock didn't have the time to announce another hour. He blinks several times, trying to chase the sleep away. He needs to stay awake in case Castiel needs him.

As he turns his head to give him a look, thinking he has fallen asleep, his stare crosses blue eyes glowing into the dark.

“Dean” Castiel says and Dean freezes when he hears his name, an unknown feeling running up his spine. “You should go to bed” he whispers, using his last remains of strength.

“Nah. I'm OK” Dean answers, moving on the floor, trying to find a way to be comfortable. “The wound could start bleeding again and if I fall asleep, I won't wake up that easy.”

Time floats a little around them. Castiel's eyes are turning pale like opals under the moonlight. “I don't know how I can thank you” he suddenly says, making Dean's eyes shine with interest.

“I know” he says.

“How?” the dark haired man asks, giving him an intrigued look.

“You won't leave during the night.”

Castiel frowns. “I don't think I'm able to-”

Dean shakes his hand, cutting him off. “Doesn't matter” he says, realizing the desperate hint piercing in his voice, when he perfectly know Castiel couldn't leave in the critical state he is in. “And you will explain me what happened before you arrived” he adds.

Castiel seems to think for a second. “Alright” he finally says.

“Promised?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow, doubtful.

“Promised” Castiel repeats, the light in his eyes having a strong little blow.

 

Dean sighs deeply and leans his head against the soft leather of the couch in a way he's both comfortable and able to watch over Castiel. Even if he's exhausted, he doesn't think he will sleep with all the emotions that are still shaking him.

Suddenly, a question itches his skull. He raises his head and Castiel is still staring at him, patiently. “What?” he gently asks.

“No, it's stupid” Dean answers, lowering his head again.

“No it's surely not” Castiel insists, trying to sit right. He only causes himself a greater pain and Dean rushes to force him laying back again.

“Alright” Dean says, glancing at him. “You won't laugh at me, right?” he asks like a little child, his soul crawling at the bottom of his bones.

“Never” Castiel answers, staring right into his soul.

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, the night crashing over him. “Am I insane?” he asks, letting the words break free. “Am I imagining all of this and I'll wake up and realize I'm just going nuts?”

 

He keeps his eyelids shut tight, not wanting to see Castiel's mocking expression or worse, him being gone and Dean being alone and crazy. He doesn't hear anything, only feel a soft touch on his forearm, a gentle and soothing little thing. He opens his eyes and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

One of Castiel's wing is now outspread, reaching out to him like a wide, celestial hand. It's strangely soft on Dean's skin, considering how sharp it looks. The moon shines on it, turning each feather into a piece from a shattered mirror, made in another dimension. His heart forgets how to beat and he is frozen, his eyes travelling from the tip of the largest feather, falling on the long spread curve to finally end up where it disappears behind Castiel's back, feathers pressed against the leather, like milky stars on the autumn soil.

Dean raises his head to look at Castiel, who gives him a gentle smile. “You're not, Dean” he says and Dean feels his head sinking deeper into the leather and he wants to fight against sleep but he's too weak, too exhausted for a battle.

 

His eyes close for good, and he thinks he feels another soft touch, in his hair this time, but he's too tired to even bother about it. He just knows it feels good and soothes him in an unbelievable way. He drowns into a warm abyss, rocked by an enchanted lullaby, by words he doesn't understand, and the voice pronouncing them is as soft as dripping honey on his open wounds.

 

**X**

 

Dean wakes up with a sore, numb body. He soon realizes he has been sitting all night long, just leaning against the couch. His cheek is pressed against the warm leather and he can barely feel his limbs when he moves. He groans and shifts on the ground, cursing himself for having such a bad idea. All his bones creak like old wood, his muscles are hot of dull pain, his mind is full of a gray, thick matter. He moves his head, not remembering how he ended up spending the night on the floor. He probably drank too much and fell near the couch last night, nothing more.

 

Except that when he turns, he ends up a breath away from an asleep face, eyelids fluttering under short strands of black hair. Dean freezes, his eyes opening wide. _That_ , he does not remember.

 

He looks around, his heart thundering with distraught beats in his chest. His mind tries to bring his memories back, tries to tie the loose threads together. A few flashes of colorful visions and short breaths appear in his mind, but he has hard time understanding them. He turns again to the man and when his stare falls upon two pale wings folded around his body, he remembers.

He has a long, deep sigh and leans his head back on the leather, all his muscles melting on the ground. He doesn't know if he'd have prefer to forget everything, or if he's actually glad he recognizes the stranger sleeping on his couch. He glances back at him, sees his eyes rolling under his eyelids shut tight. Dean doesn't know how he ended up shifting his position in such a way, but they just slept bathed in each other's breath.

 

The sun is already bright and high in the sky, drowning the room in a saturated yellow glow, strangely colorful for an autumn morning. The beams of light slides on Castiel's wings, turning them into lakse reflecting a world Dean doesn't know, a world covered of liquid diamonds and silver, with waters as blue as the summer sky and fields wide and evergreen. One wing is folded on Castiel's body, the other is gently curved around Dean like a celestial cover. He now realizes how huge it is, for half of its span is spread across him, the largest feathers touching the floor behind him.

He doesn't know if the wing spread during the night or if Castiel did it in purpose, though he doubts it very much, but despite his aching body, it feels so odd yet so soothing and mesmerizing to have this soft curve protecting him from the cold. It's quite heavy, and yet light enough not to suffocate him. They are quite warm, but not too much, keeping him in a soft, tender bubble. The tip is curved behind his back and Dean holds his breath, afraid he would wake Castiel up.

 

He remembers the evening before, pieces by pieces. The noises that ripped him from his sleep, the fear when he saw the silhouette in his yard, the surprise followed by terror when he saw it was a severely wounded Castiel bleeding on the grass bathed in moonlight. Then, the blood, so much blood on his hand, sticking on his palms and hair, the smell of the alcohol turning his mind numb, the needle diving under the tan flesh, the words resonating, far, far away from him as he is drifting into sleep.

 

Castiel shudders next to him and shifts his position on the couch. Dean turns to look at him and sees his eyes are blinking, as he is slowly emerging from sleep. He is curled up on the leather, half bent in a way he probably found didn't hurt. His fists are clenched on his sides, as if he had fallen asleep in the greatest torment. Dean thinks about trying to move away from the wing-cover but it's firmly wrapped around his body and it would become way more embarrassing if he hurt him while moving. So he waits.

Castiel's blue irises finally appear through short glimpses, as sleep keeps calling him back into its arms. His wing is covered by a violent shiver, all the feathers standing on end. Dean raises a hand to smooth them back before he stops his move and realizes how inappropriate it would have probably been. Castiel moves, burying his face in the leather with a groan, trying to push himself away from slumber.

“Mornin'” Dean tries after a few seconds, hoping Castiel won't jump on him, as confused as him when he woke up.

 

But to his greatest surprise, Castiel's head turns to him, his eyes full of tiredness giving him a soft look, before they fall on his wing curled up around Dean. It opens wide of surprise, stretching on his side, before Castiel immediately folds it back, embarrassed.

It leaves a great void in Dean and cold wraps itself around him, holding him in icy arms. He shivers and Gunner moves next to him, jumping on him to wish him a good morning, diving his paws into his chest.

Dean chuckles. “Alright, buddy, calm down” he caresses the fur on his head, admiring the way the sun turns it caramel-colored. “I'm gonna let you out, just give me a minute OK?”

He laughs again when Gunner gives him an impatient bark, before Castiel's low, sleep heavy voice resonates in his ear, warming his chest with a brutal fire.

“Why didn't you sleep in a more comfortable place?” he asks as Dean looks at him. His blue eyes are full of worry and guilt. “I would have been fine.”

“Just wanted to make sure you'd be OK, that's all” Dean answers as he gets up, groaning when all his limbs and bones protest at the sudden move. He gives Castiel a look. “How do you feel?” he asks, letting his eyes travel on him. From what he sees, he looks alright and it tightens his heart, knowing Castiel will probably run away when he'll be completely healed.

Castiel groans and rolls on his back. He touches the bandage on his stomach with his fingertips, before a hot pain blooms inside his body and he moves his hand back, wincing.

“Better, I suppose” he answers, slowly sitting right on the couch, holding his sore ribs. “But it still hurts” he adds, folding his wings around him when all his limbs are covered by a violent shiver.

“Right” Dean says in a breath. He swings his weight from leg to leg, static filling his head as he starts to fear Castiel will leave as soon as he can. “Now, are you decided to tell me what happened?”

Castiel raises his eyes to him. “I don't you to be involved” he softly says.

“You broke into my yard and spent the whole time here. I think I'm involved enough to know” Dean snaps, clenching his fists.

 

Castiel stares at him for a moment, evaluating the risks. Dean's not wrong. He turned his life upside down at the moment he crossed the line between the wide field and his garden. He doesn't like hiding the truth from him, and he supposes it doesn't matter anymore now. Dean's fully aware there's a whole world next to his own.

Castiel sighs deeply. “My brother did this” he finally admits.

Dean raises an eyebrow, confused. “Your brother stabbed you?” he asks with an incredulous look.

“It's more complicated than that” Castiel says, adjusting his position on the couch. Dean looks at him in silent, before he finally sits next to him, glancing at his feathers draped on the leather. “He has lost his way. He used to be like all of us, but something was wrong with him. He didn't felt like he belonged to this world. He was becoming angry, bitter, dangerous. We tried to help him but he didn't want to be saved from what was consuming him. One day, he just ran away and nobody knows where he is.”

Dean blinks, his breath taken by Castiel's words. “But you saw him last night” he whispers.

Castiel nods. “Yes. For years, we heard about humans disappearing but we never linked it to him. We thought he just wanted peace, not chaos. But destruction appears to be all that he wants.”

“That doesn't explain why he stabbed you in the guts” Dean says, frowning. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing” Castiel answers, softly shaking his head, eyes lost into space. “He wants revenge on all his family. He thinks we never cared for him.” He shudders. “Last night, I couldn't find sleep, so I went for a walk. I was near the field when I heard voices. I searched for them, but it was mistake. My brother gathered a group who follows him blindly. He chose the most broken of us and promised them he would be there for them. In some way, I understand them. They felt so lonely they accepted to be commanded by him.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “My brother was the first to see me. I tried to talk to him, but he couldn't control his rage anymore. He hurt me and ran after me when I escaped. I didn't know what to do. When he left, our home was hidden from him, and I didn't want to come back and put all my family in danger. I had no choice but to come to you.”

Dean's frown grows deeper. “But how did you know he wouldn't follow you here?”

 

Castiel's wings shivers when the tip of a feather accidentally brushes against Dean's arm. They don't say anything but Dean sees how Castiel folds his wing closer to him, just as he feels the heat flowing in his veins, just where the soft feather touched him.

“We can't cross to the human world on our own” Castiel says, diving his eyes into his. “We need a powerful connection to one human to enter it. It must be incredibly strong, and it's a bond for life. That's why we don't walk free in your world. It only happened a few times in _centuries_.”

Dean frowns, a strange little feeling sneaking under his bones. “Who has a... _connection_ with you that's strong enough for that?”

Castiel's mouth has an amused curve. “I think you can guess” he says, the glow around him getting a little brighter, turning into a soft shade of gold.

Dean stares at him, his mind blank and gray. “I don't know anything about you, how would I know who you-”

“You” Castiel answers, his eyes burning Dean's bones. “It's you.”

Dean's words are left stuck in his throat, his tongue is heavy and dry. “What?” he blurts, observing Castiel's halo and immaculate wings, and he refuses to believe his sleepless nights and dirty hands and screwed up mind can be tied to something as celestial as them.

“I didn't have a choice on it, and I can't control it” Castiel murmurs, tilting his head to look at him. “It's strange, even for me.”

Dean shakes his head, incredulous. “But how did it happen? I mean, it's not like we held hands and made flower crowns when we met.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at his odd comparison. “It has nothing to do with actions” he says. “We've studied it for generations, but we never found how or why it happened” His eyes sadden a little. “I never thought it would happen to me, especially after I frightened you.”

“You did not-” Dean protests, stopping when Castiel's soft eyes fall on him. He takes a shaking breath. “It's just that it's a lot to take, you know?”

“Yes, I do know that. I did not want to change, but I was surprised by your arrival. Shifting is our only way to defend ourselves against possible threats” Castiel says, his eyes getting lost into soapy memories. “But I understand. My true form can be… _unpleasant_ for humans.”

“It's not!” Dean protests before he closes his mouth, heat rising to his face when Castiel raises surprised eyes to him. “I mean, it got me by surprise but… it's not _unpleasant_.” he says, embarrassing himself a little more each second. He wishes he could hit himself so he would stop talking. “It's amazing. I mean you… you are.”

He closes his eyes, cursing himself in his head. When he opens them again, he swears he saw a thin smile spreading on Castiel's lips as the golden veil surrounding him waves on his wings, covered by a light shiver.

Dean gets up, scratching the back of his neck, trying to get away from this situation. “Can we continue after I make some coffee? I'm not awake right now.” he says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying more.

“Of course” Castiel answers as he starts to get up, before a blow of pain makes him fall back on the couch, his eyes shut tight under the pain.

“Want me to help?” Dean suggests, considering his tense body with worry.

“Yes, please” Castiel breathes, only flinching a little when Dean passes an arm behind his back, his skin covered by Castiel's disheveled feathers.

 

Once he is standing, he waits a moment for the world to stop spinning around him, even if Dean's is still holding him, before he helps him walking to the kitchen, a small room with big faded roses painted on the wallpaper. He makes him sit on one of the wooden chair before he heads to the coffeemaker.

Once the machine finished spurting loudly like a prehistorical creature, Dean fills a cup with the black liquid before he puts it on the table, in front of Castiel.

“Want some?” he says as Castiel gives the steaming cup an intrigued look.

“I don't know, I never tasted it” he answers.

“Really?” Dean exclaims, raising his eyebrows. “What do you all do in the woods? Eating flowers?”

Castiel glares at him before he takes a sip of the beverage. At the moment his lips touch the coffee, his wings are covered by a surprised shiver and his eyes open a little wider.

“This tastes good” he says and Dean chuckles, pouring another cup before he sits in front of Castiel.

“Yeah, like you say. I couldn't live without it” Dean says, amused as he starts drinking his own coffee. “Now, tell me, how do you know about humans?” He searches his words, frowning. “Why do _you_ look so human?”

Castiel dives his eyes into his. “I don't. You know my true form.” he says and Dean's heart flutters a little too wildly. “I suppose I have this other form to fit in this world. If I was born in another universe, maybe I wouldn't look like this.”

“So what's up about the wings?” Dean asks, his eyes fixed on the two curves behind Castiel's shoulders, as the long feathers touch the floor in a crystal waterfall.

“Well, it's between my true form and my human one. I usually stay like this but when you met me the first time, I was too close to the human world and feared someone could see me, so I hid them.” His eyes darken a little. “If it's bothering you I can-”

“No, no it's OK!” Dean says, a little too fast. He takes another mouthful of coffee and tries to ease his heart. “You didn't answer my other question. How do you know how to act like humans? I mean, shouldn't you be wearing leaves and deer's hide or whatever you're into?”

Castiel gives him a dark look. “We're not savages, Dean. And we're closer to humans than you think” He curls his wings around him. “Some of us have been studying them from afar. We can't come close, except for the ones who created a bond with one of them. These ones usually told us everything they knew.”

Dean frowns. “Alright, but why do you know about us but nobody there knows you even exist?” he asks, startled.

“To protect us. We've tried to show ourselves to humans in the past, but it never ended well. They get afraid, and fear creates hatred.” Castiel says with a sorrowful hint dancing in his words. “We now have as only rule to stay as far as humans as we can.”

“So you're not supposed to be there?” Dean asks, now worried Castiel's own people could come after him and punishes him for being in his house.

“It's different” Castiel says to his greatest surprise. “Bonds with humans are very rare and in theory, they should be respected. If one of us is caught with a human, they will both be punished. But if they have a bond like ours, it's not considered the same.”

“Why?” Dean says, absorbed in Castiel's words. It's a whole new dimension opening in front of him, bright and full of mysteries.

“It's sacred. There's no way to explain it.” Castiel answers, a lavender glow sliding on his wings, creating clear waves of smoke on them. “I guess it reminds them of what they couldn't do in the past. But as I said, there are very few of us and I personally never met someone who created a connection with a human.”

“So it's the first time you see something like this and it happens to be on you?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas confirms. “And it's quite confusing.”

 

Dean frowns. He tries to drink once again but the cup is empty. He sighs and gets another one. When he turns back, he sees Castiel handing him his own and his heart misses a beat, before he finally smiles and pours some for him. There's a new feeling floating in the air. Half strange, half comfortable. He understands the odd part of it, for it's the first time he has breakfast with a nearly stranger, his wings neatly folded against him, the same odd glow surrounding him. But he doesn't understand why he feels so calm, so soothed when it's been less than twenty four hours since he discovered the existence of a whole new world.

It's like he's used to it, as if he has met Castiel years ago. There is a warm peace inside him, and for the first time since he arrived, there's no more static, no more voices and whispers in his head, no more visions of blood, pain and guilt. He is enjoying his fresh coffee and he realizes how easy it is to talk, despite the fact they only spent a few hours together, that Dean had to stitch Castiel who was bleeding all over the couch and woke up covered by a shiny wing. Without forgetting the fact Castiel is far from being human.

 

He focuses back on Castiel. “So, what do you know about that… bond? What does it do?” he asks, in fact quite curious about these threads now wrapped around both of them.

“Well, I heard a lot of things about it. I'm not sure they're all true but I suppose some are.” Castiel answers, observing his reflection on the smooth surface of his coffee. “It's very powerful: if one of us dies, the other will too. No force can break it. Only I can do it if you ask me to.” He dives his eyes back into Dean's, what could be dread floating in them. “From what I've heard, it's a link connecting us wherever we go. If you need me, I'll know where you are, and if I need you, you'll know where I am. It's not something you can explain, you just _feel_ it.”

“Can you be more vague?” Dean asks, lost in Castiel's words under his mocking smile.

“It's spiritual” Castiel says, giving him a dark look. “If one of us is in danger, or hurt, we'll know it. I suppose it increases my power too.” He sighs. “I heard many things about it, but I never experienced it myself. I guess we'll have to try to know.”

“Yeah, sure” Dean answers, wondering what this bond that appears so mystical from Castiel's words really is. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course” Castiel answers, leaning on his forearms to get closer. Dean feels his heart dropping low in his chest when he sees threads of pale light moving in Castiel's eyes. He prays this is not a dream, or that he'll never wake up, otherwise they could directly send him to the asylum and he wouldn't mind.

“What are you exactly?” he asks, hoping it won't sound too rude.

Castiel's eyes glimmer. “We have many names. But I think _faes_ is the most common one.”

Dean stares at him for a long minute without saying anything. Then. “A fae? Like magic wands, butterfly wings and fairy rings?” He shakes his head, incredulous. “You got to be kidding me.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “I'm telling the truth, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know” Dean says. “It's just sounds… weird.”

“Humans always caught a glimpse of our true nature, and they wrote stories from it. We're much different from what you think.”

Dean's eye is once again called by the colors on Castiel's wings. “Yeah I can see that” He rips himself from the stained glass feathers to look at him. “So I never was insane?” he asks, thorns suddenly growing in his throat.

Castiel gives him a gentle look. “No you're not. I was going to tell you.” Seeing Dean's expression, begging him to continue, he takes a deep breath. “Even if we wanted it, not everyone could see us. Only a few humans have the Sight.”

“I don't understand” Dean says, confused. “You told me you couldn't get into the human world, so why did I see them when I was a kid?”

“Children are more sensitive to magic. The ones who have the Sight will see us very early in their lives, and some of us are drawn by attention. The more you believed these creatures were real, the strongest they became. They forced a bond onto you. You were their bridge between our worlds.” Castiel says, giving Dean a compassionate look.

Dean leans back on his chair, speechless. He has a joyless laugh. “I thought I was going crazy...” he whispers, his eyes getting lost into the empty.

“I'm sorry, Dean. We're not all evil. If a child starts to show signs of the Sight, we either try to contact him so he becomes our ally, or we erase all his power and memory if his burden is too heavy to carry. I'm sorry no one was here when it happened to you.”

“Yeah, well it's not your fault. I'm not even sure I'd have believed you if you had told me fairies and stuff were real.” Dean's look darkens. “I'm sorry it had to be me.”

“About what?” Castiel asks, frowning at him.

“Your bond. You get involved with the most screwed up guy in town. Jackpot for you.”

Castiel gets up suddenly, making Dean have a jolt on his chair. He raises his head to look at him, the man's shadow weighing down on him. “You're not worth less than anyone, Dean. I believe our connection happened for a reason, and I'll never believe it was a mistake.” He dives his electric eyes into Dean's. “Never.”

 

Dean shivers and opens his mouth to answer, but stays silent, turned into stone by this statue of marble and light, wings slightly spread, filling the whole space, feather shining in the morning light. He lowers his head, feeling Castiel's halo burning his gaze.

His phone suddenly vibrates on the table where he left it last night. It's a message from Daria. Dean frowns, wondering what she wants from him. He opens it.

 

**[From: Daria**

**Hey, you planning to come today? I'm getting worried and Clarke wants me to come check on you. You can get your day off if you want, just let me know!**

**Love u idiot!]**

 

Dean's heart stops. He checks his phone and sees it's Monday. But worse than that, it's not the morning. It's 2 p.m. He has been sleeping all day and morning long. It's both a miracle, for he has slept an entire night without waking up after bloody nightmares, and a curse for he didn't even realize he was still in the real world.

He glances at Castiel, who's staring at him, frowning. “What's wrong?” he softly asks.

“I had to get to work” Dean whispers, startled. “It's like I forgot” He looks at Castiel again. “I'll just get a day off, I can't let you here on your own.”

“It's alright. I don't to be a burden to you, Dean. You can go” Castiel says, his wings having a small beat behind him. “Besides, I'll go as soon as I'm healed. I can't let you take care of me forever.”

“What if I want to?” Dean suddenly says, freezing at the second his words cross his lips. Did he really say that? God, now this is embarassing.

Castiel closes his mouth, frozen under the shock. He stares at Dean as this one gets up and stands in front of him, trying to control the heat from spreading on his features.

“I'm just saying, you can stay as long as you want. But I won't let you here on your own when your brother is outside.” 

“He can't cross the forest” Castiel says, tilting his head to deepen his stare.

“What if he forces a bond on someone, like you said?” Dean asks, starting to feel the worry and fear rising in his lungs. He knows he can't keep him forever, he has no right to choose for Castiel.

This one looks at him and his eyes darken, turning into a dark, deep blue, the kind the sea takes when the storm shapes above its waves. “I didn't think about this.”

“Exactly. Just let me stay with you today, and then I'll let you if you want. But it's not safe right now.”

“Dean,” Castiel starts with a desperate voice. “Even if he'd come, you couldn't do anything.” He makes a step closer, piercing Dean's bubble. “I already crashed in your life for too long. I can't ask for more.”

“Then I'm asking you!” Dean exclaims. “Don't go now!”

Castiel considers him for a moment. “Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice incredulous and shaking.

“Yes!” Dean shouts in return. “But if you want to go, I won't hold you back” He stops, breathless. “I-I just don't want to be alone today. I just don't want to and you just arrived-”

“I'll stay” Castiel cuts him, his eyes shiny and bright. “I'll stay for as long as you want me to.”

 

Dean keeps a sob in his throat, expelling a long, shaking breath from his lungs. Castiel first makes a hesitant step to him, watching his reaction. Seeing Dean doesn't move away, he keeps getting closer and suddenly his arms are wrapped Dean's shoulders, his hair and hot breaths tickling his neck.

Dean first freezes, not used to this kind of attention and he doesn't even remember the last time someone approached him that way. Sure there had been Sam and Jessica, but never someone outside. He considers Castiel's warm body against him and slowly, carefully, he passes his arms around Castiel's waist, and suddenly wrap them tight, holding him as close as he dares to. Castiel's long feathers are tangled with his fingers, skin and divine entwined together.

 

He breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, trying to enjoy the moment. Slowly, he loses himself in the embrace and forgets the world around. The ticking of the clock, the wind blowing strong against the windows, the phone buzzing on the table, the thundering of his own heart. He feels calm, so calm as if he was standing in the middle of a wide field, covered by snow on a winter morning. He buries his face against Castiel's shoulder and he falls into the warmth of the blackness.

 

**X**

 

Before Dean can even realize, Castiel is leaving.

 

He says it like that, one evening they are both watching TV. Dean didn't see that time passed by so fast, but it's nearly been two weeks since Castiel arrived. He assured Dean his wound will be soon healed, but it took longer than he expected, worrying him about the nature of his brother's blade.

They are on the leather couch and suddenly Castiel's low voice resonates as he has been staring at Dean for long minutes. “I think time has come for me to go” he says as gently as possible.

Dean rips himself from the colorful screen and his heart stops when he crosses Castiel's eyes. “What?” he asks in a husky voice, his breath stuck in his chest.

 

He remembers all the hours he spent in his company and it feels like a knife twisting in his chest. Of course, he knew it won't last forever, but his mind never expected it would come so soon. He stayed with Castiel the first days but getting short on excuses for Daria, he didn't have a choice but to come and work a few hours before he would quickly say goodbye and drive as fast as the stars to his house, his heart beating fast at the idea Castiel could be gone.

But he was always here. Sometimes watching TV with Gunner near him, sometimes reading a dusty book he find in some boxes Dean put in a dark corner, sometimes just laying on the couch when the pain would get too strong. They would talk all day long of anything and everything, filling the silence with memories and expectations. They would walk Gunner together, for the area was too calm and cold for them to be disturbed. The dog finally started to trust in Castiel and Dean never thought it would happen. Gunner was quite wary at first, considering Castiel with a dark eye, probably smelling the divine surrounding him.

Dean had fallen in a comfortable routine, something stable and warm. The nightmares and black and red visions were gone and he would sleep entire nights without fear. He had left his bed to Castiel and after a few nights, he started to appreciate the warm leather against his skin and settled down completely. He even remembers the morning he woke up cheek on Castiel's hair, for he had fallen asleep watching some movie. He stayed for a moment completely silent, afraid he would wake him up and he would instead focus on his slow breathing, his warmth pulsing around his body, and the shivers covering his wings sometimes.

 

He now stares at Castiel, desperate and cold. “What?” he asks, feeling the sweat rolling down his spine. “Why?”

“I'm completely healed” he answers, always so gentle. “And I think it's the right thing to do. My people are probably worried about me, and I don't them to come after you.”

“But you said they respected our connection?”

“That's the truth” Castiel answers, nodding. “But most of us never knew it. The oldest know how powerful and sacred it is, but the others would probably try to harm you and I.”

“Why?” Dean asks, incredulous.

Castiel sighs deeply. “They don't think we should mix with humans. They still think about the past and they want revenge for the humans' behavior when they rejected them” he admits with a sad hint piercing in his voice.

“Right” Dean says, rubbing his temples, closing his eyes to try to contain his emotions. He then opens them again to look at Castiel. “Will you be gone for good?” he asks, hating the weakness and fear tainting his words.

“Only if you want me to” Castiel answers, the tip of his wing curling to touch Dean's arm. “But we could meet sometimes if you wanted.”

“That would be great” Dean answers, not knowing what he should do or feel. On one hand, he is relieved he will see Castiel many times after he left, but on the other one he already dreads the time he will spend alone in this house, in this world. It will all appear cold and meaningless without Castiel's sparkling aura filling every room. “You go in the morning?” he asks, his voice a fragile breath.

“Yes” Castiel answers, a heavy emotion weighing down on him. “I don't want to” he suddenly admits, making Dean stare at him with starry eyes and open mouth. “But it will be safer for both of us.”

“OK” Dean says, lowering his head to hide whatever is rising in his eyes. “Guess I'll just have to accept it, right?” he asks with a broken smile.

 

Castiel doesn't answer but closes the already small space between them to put his head on Dean's shoulder, his wings spreading behind his back to curl around them. Dean sighs and puts his own cheek on the top of Castiel's head, breathing deep into his hair, letting the veil of warm gold closing around him. His hands are slightly shaking but he calms his distraught heartbeats and tries to be strong. None of them can choose, their destinies have been written a long time ago.

Even though he holds on the small idea he can rip these dusty pages and draw his own path instead.

 

He only realizes he has fallen asleep when distant voices coming from the bright screen wakes him up in a slight jolt. He blinks, confused and reaches for the remote to shut it off. Once he is back in a perfect, warm silence he notices the morning light is shyly piercing through the curtains. It's just a few rays of cold blue sun but it's enough to wake a feeling of panic inside him, for the night is over and he can't cling on it like a man thrown into the sea clings to his desire to survive. He dares to glance on the couch, not ready to see the empty, icy leather shines in his eye.

And then he sees.

Castiel is still here. Right in his arms, laying on top of him, his legs tangled with his, his wings wide open, thrown across the couch like a heavenly cover. His arms are tied under Dean's waist, his hands gripping his t-shirt tight. His head is resting on his chest, nesting right where his heart is, an ear listening carefully to the distraught beating underneath the skin.

Dean holds his breath as if he was underwater. How did it not notice sooner? Why does it feel familiar, soothing and pure and why does his soul shakes and twists like an animal inside him? His head is heavy, his mind calling him back into a dusty, hot fog and instinctively, he wraps his own arms around Castiel, the feathers brushing against his skin, making his whole body shiver violently.

 

He falls back into sleep, holding on that mystical warmth, closing his eyes to only focus on that fire spreading in his veins as the other sensations disappear. He cannot remember them all, even if he wishes his head could contain all the things he feels in this moment. But he knows his eyes are weak, they see but the visions get duller and paler each day, and soon, he's sure he will not remember a flare moving in a blue eye, the curve of a wing or a strand of black hair.

So he holds on what he feels, carves them into the darkness of his bones so they'll always be there with him. They will keep him warm when he'll be cold, just like they are in this moment. He wraps them around his veins and holds Castiel a little tighter against him, desperate like a child, like a dying man. He represses all the blue emotions bubbling in his stomach to only focus and the warm, the beautiful, the divine.

 

It's only when the sun shines hot and bright and blinding in the sky that he realizes he has woken up again. There's still an immaculate silence surrounding him, as if snow had covered the room, and he still feels dragged into the depths of sleep but this time, he's cold, so terribly cold it wakes him for good.

Nothing moved, all is still the same, even the burning river is still flowing under his skin. But this time Castiel is gone, only leaving a few shiny feathers on the couch and a swirling void inside Dean's chest.

 

**X**

 

The first evening he comes home after work, Dean forgot he is alone again. He crosses the line between the world outside and the warmth of his home, falls on his knees and opens his arms so Gunner jumps in them, licking his face while barking happily, causing Dean to laugh, half disgusted, half amused. He then gets up and takes off his jacket, throws it on the couch and looks around, his eyes searching for iridescent feathers shining under the sun, the rays of golden light lazily flowing in waves in bright blue eyes. His lips are already open, about to shout a crystal clear name when he realizes.

 

He is alone in this house. Castiel left this morning and yet it feels like he never did, as if he was just gone for a while and would come back during the day. As if he would be waiting for him, his wings draped on an old armchair, watching the flames dancing in the fireplace, a smile spreading on his lips as soon as his eyes would cross Dean's.

But there's nothing. Just an empty, cold space surrounding Dean. He sighs deeply and passes a hand on his face, suddenly exhausted and devoid of any emotion. Daria forced him to go home early, worried about the days he spent in bed, kept by what appeared to be a violent cold. Dean felt bad lying to her, for she is one of his closest friends and he knows how much she appreciates him, he never doubted about it.

 

He doesn't even bother to prepare some dinner, he just fills his belly with some alcohol that burns his body with a brutal warmth and walks to his room. When he passes by the glass window, he stops and in the fog the liquor put in front of his eyes, he swears he saw a silhouette at the edge of the forest, staring right at him, wings spread under the strong wind. He blinks and turns around, refusing to keep staring any longer at the apparition, knowing his twisted mind could make him run to the forest without thinking.

 

Each days that follow is pretty much the same. He wakes up, has a long sigh and gets to the kitchen, has a quick breakfast before he goes outside and walks Gunner for hours, trying to empty his mind of any thoughts. No matter how cold and merciless the weather is, he walks and walks in the depths of the city, until he's breathless, sweat covering his back, Gunner giving him exhausted little looks.

His heart draws him to the forest, but he clenches his jaw and stays on the black road, every damn time. Daria worries about him, constantly asking him if he's alright, if anything's wrong. He doesn't know how to answer her, for he doesn't even understand his state himself.

 

How can he feel that empty space inside him? It's nothing he ever experienced before, no matter how many people he loved left him. He felt the grief, the rage, the guilt but it was nothing compared to the pure despair swirling inside his chest. It keeps him awake at night, it keeps him from focusing, eating, doing small tasks. He drops things, he forgets others, he's often angry or in the deepest sorrow. Sam noticed it, of course, and he keeps inviting him home, and he calls him several times a day. Dean sees the worry circling in his brother's eyes, but he denies everything, pretends everything is alright.

Because how could he explain the void he feels shaking behind his ribs each night as he doesn't feel a celestial presence in his home anymore? He would sound crazy for sure, missing an inhuman creature he only knew for a few weeks, if he ever knew him at all. He thought about talking to a doctor, when he started to feel like this blackness in his heart was starting to devour him whole, but he already imagined his eyes widening, the pen scribbling a list of colorful pills before nurses force him to swallow them down, as they lock him up in a white, silent cell.

 

So he lives, drink, sleeps and repeats. Sometimes, he goes outside in the yard where he tried to make his own little asylum room, cutting the tall grass, pushing away the abandoned boxes and puts a chair and table instead. He wraps himself in several layers of clothing and he stays there for hours, drinking more coffee, reading some dusty books he found in the furniture that was already there, or just staring into the empty.

 

But he should know by now nothing lasts forever, not even the darkest feelings.

 

One evening, he comes home after work, wincing at his sore back as he shivers from the first cold winds of December. He walks to the glass door and lets Gunner do his business in the yard, as he crosses his arms against his chest, swearing at the winter and his damn glacial caresses. The moon shines bright and silver like an evil eye staring down at him from the frozen dark sky. The stars flicker shyly around it, covering Dean's head of translucent tears.

 

He sighs and focuses back on the yard, following Gunner's little steps on the frozen grass when a move catches his attention, just a little glow at the corner of his eye. He raises his head suddenly, looking around as his heart starts to beat faster, all his fears rushing in, flowing free in his veins.

He calls Gunner who raises his head and gives him an intrigued look, but doesn't move. Dean hisses his name, threatens him of everything but the dog doesn't listen, only keeps pacing around the garden under the moonlight. Dean feels the night closing around him as every sounds become louder, filling  his head like a symphony. He swallows the acid that rose in his throat back and walks to Gunner, decided to come back inside the house.

 

But he didn't make two steps that the glow reappears, this time right in front of him and suddenly Castiel is standing just behind the gate, his wings half spread behind him, as luminous as if the stars flowed on them, covered them of their milky sorrow.

 

Dean stumbles back, his heart stopping one second before it starts racing again, all the blood boiling under his skin, and he feels too cold, and then burning, dead and motionless and then more alive then he ever felt.

The edges of his vision get blurry as he makes a little step, his hands shaking, his breaths creating clouds in front of him. “Cas?” he calls, the single syllable resonating around him, wrapping itself around his head, rooting deep in his being. It just comes to his mind, and now he can't imagine Castiel under another name but this short melody that whistles in his heart.

“Dean” he answers in a breath, as if he couldn't believe he was there, as if his steps guided him against his will. He stares at him, his eyes glowing in the dark as wings and hands and ribbons appear behind him, barely visible in the night, just small sparks of his other form wanting to shine in front of Dean.

What happens between this moment and the next, Dean must have forgot, for the second after he wraps his arms around Cas' shoulders, collapsing against him as his wings open wide of surprise, both of them having a little sigh tainted by a sob of relief.

Dean holds onto him as if he was never going to see the light again, and it's so odd to him. He's not used of being affectionate, especially towards anyone else outside his family. But there, it feels familiar, pure and innocent, and he melts into the embrace, breathing in the smell of the forest and the night, as he feels Castiel's arms around his waist, his breathing hot and short against his neck.

 

This embrace colors all his days from here.

 

He doesn't wake up with an aching heart, he doesn't feel a weight sinking in his chest with every breath he takes, he doesn't walk with screams piercing his skull as he suffers from life itself. Not anymore.

Of course there's that little, inoffensive dread that his happiness will shatter soon but he knows how to close his eyes and go beyond it when it gets too heavy. He goes to work and he starts to get close again to the people he loves, he stops closing the cage he made himself like a punishment around his body. Sam and Jessica seems a little startled at first, caught by surprise by that sudden twist of his emotions.

 

He wishes he would see Castiel more often, but he holds dearly on the small moments they spend together, his soul weaves them with the same golden threads and even when he comes home aching and shivering from the cold, he feels the silver flowing joyfully in his veins when his eyes cross Castiel's. This one waits for him, sitting on the leather armchair that is now his own, his wings of rain and moon glow draped around him, as a wide smile spreads on his lip.

 

Both of them know how dangerous their meetings are, no one knows if some maniac would see in their bond something impure and unworthy of Castiel's nature and would try to bathe in their warm blood. But they just cannot stop, and if they would stay only an hour or two at the beginning, Castiel now spends entire days with him when Dean can stay at home. They talk and talk until Dean's mouth is dry and his mind is fizzing and numb and he falls asleep on the couch. When he wakes up, there's still that glow in the air, that shiver in the winter light, that strong but gentle scent around him as he sees a blanket is covering him each time, keeping him from getting cold during the night.

 

Sometimes they go on a walk and Dean watches Gunner running around Castiel, as this one beats his wings to throw some of the blinding snow that fell during the night on the dog. After Gunner spent some time staring at him with a wary look, he realized the strange man with icy feathers didn't mean any harm and became nearly as close to him as he is to Dean. Dean watches them playing in that wide white field, and the day is so calm and pure, he could actually feel the world turning around him. He craved these moments so much his heart aches. He never wanted anything but the peaceful way normality settled down, if normal could even be used for him.

He laughs until the heat fills his belly and the sun shines from the inside of his body, and each of his ribs hurt like a bridge that saw too many footsteps. Castiel turns to him, strands of black hair falling on his forehead as a bright smile breaks on his mouth and the morning light catches his eye, plays with the blue waves in it.

Dean stares at him and he feels his heart growing wings, as a new feeling grows, roots deeper under the frozen surface of his soul.

 

Time is a traitor: sometimes the days are too long, when Castiel cannot come, when Dean has to stay in the dullness of the world for too many hours, and sometimes they are too short when he is in his presence. Before he can even realize, he wakes up from another night and there's only that warm, comforting aura around him to keep him from falling into a dark sea of melancholy again.

 

And he starts to feel a change. As the days pass, he notices someone different took his place and he realizes he appreciates the silence in this new cleansed body. He doesn't only see it in himself, he sees it thrown like light on Castiel. This one becomes softer, warmer in some way, as if Dean could now reach out to him, as if he had become a part of his real world. Of course, there's still this veil pulsing around him, this entire dimension beating under his skin, that shine that takes Dean breath away.

But there's a change.

 

He sees it in the way Castiel looks less like a raw diamond and becomes flesh and bone under Dean's touch when his hand lands on his shoulder, a gesture he can't keep himself from doing, coming from nowhere. He sees it in the way Castiel watches him making breakfast before he asks him to teach him, a frown darkening his concentrated face as he makes scrambled eggs under Dean's watch. He sees it in Cas' falsely shocked expression when the whipped cream spurts at his face and the way he looks at him when his laugh thunders.

He sees it in the way his blue eyes widen a little when he sees maple syrup flowing, when he slightly jumps when he hears a small noise, when he narrows his eyes when he doesn't understand something. When Dean finds him sipping hot coffee, a book on his lap, fire dancing in front of him, and when he glares at Dean when this one gently mocks him. When he shivers as the wind blows into the room when Dean opens the windows, when he sighs of ease when Dean makes him taste some pie he bought before coming home.

He hears it when Castiel speaks and the words flow so easily, when he hums along a the radio when he doesn't know Dean is listening from another room, when he whispers foreign words to him when Dean's eyelids are getting heavy and his head falls on Cas' shoulder as he drowns into a luminous sleep.

 

He is not a strange creature anymore, he's a part of Dean's world. He's no longer a floating, eerie blue light haunting the field, he's no longer a light breeze against his skin. He became solid and bright, and Dean swears he could hear his blood flowing, his bones creaking, his mind spinning at the speed of the stars.

And the odd feeling keeps getting stronger, making him forget things, stutters, stumbles, be a miserable human with overwhelming emotions.

 

One evening, they're both sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, thoughts a little drowned in a few glasses of warm whiskey and Dean stares at the dancing flames when Castiel's low, husky voice wakes him from his stupor.

“Tell me about your life” he whispers out of the blue and when Dean turns to him, he sees him staring at him, his wings flames colored, shivering in the heavy night.

So Dean tells him everything. About his mother, his night terrors, his afternoons with his brother, his dad's black car, the dog they had when he was a kid, the first time he saw the beach, his first kiss, his friends in highschool, his fear of abandonment and terrible hatred of loneliness, his passion for old rock, the smell of apple pies, the dusty veil covering the world to his heart and the first time he met Jessica and immediately saw the new spark in Sam's eyes.

He tells him about the deepest secrets he holds, the things he never even admitted to himself. He doesn't realize it at first but the words flow and flow like a honey river from his mouth and they seem so alive and rough now that he says them out loud. They make him smile and shiver, they make tears rise to his eyes and they warm his heart again.

“I remember one Christmas,” he says and Castiel has curled a wing around him at this point. “I was like, eight, and Sam woke me up because he heard a noise in the kitchen. So we got up and when we arrived in the living room, we saw so many freakin' gifts under the tree I think Sam started to cry.” He has a little laugh of nostalgia. “Our parents pretended they didn't know anything, and they were terrible liars, but we didn't care and we started open everything. There was Bobby and Helen, Jo and Charlie - they were all friends of ours - and then Sam just ran to our window and it was snowing so freaking much.” He gives a look at the half open shutters to see the same wide coat covering the yard. “It's one of the best memories I got.”

The soft, faded vision hurts him a little, because it belongs to the past and he knows nothing like this will ever happen again, but it also soothes him, his eyes get lost into space as he remembers the laughter, the warm and strong scents of cooking food, the colorful lights flickering on the walls.

He opens his eyes wide and sits straight. “They got to be somewhere” he says as he turns to Castiel, who gives him a confused look.

Dean gets up and runs to the small dusty room at the end of the corridor. After a few minutes of him coughing and making several boxes fall on his head, he comes back in the living room with one of them in his arms, a grin painted on his lips. Christmas lights are hanging from it as he puts it down on the table. Castiel gives him the same intrigued look as he gets up and walks to stand next to him, his head tilting on one side as he stares down at the colorful light bulbs, snowflakes and simple little dots.

“What are we going to do with these?” he asks as Dean walks back to the room and comes back with other boxes and a black plastic bag.

“I kinda forgot about this” he answers, rolling up his sleeves. “Give me a hand with this?” he asks, barely bothering of the night entirely settled outside.

 

For the next hour, time turns into a swirling blurry pond of laughter and light. Dean fights to make the tree stands still under Castiel's amused smile before he helps him putting the tinsels and ornaments on it. There's a full box he got from his parents, for Sam and Jessica preferred to buy new, modern ones. He feels like a child again, sitting under the tree, putting one bauble at the time, carefully, as if it was the most important task he had been given in his life. He doesn't realize how tall the tree is until he sees Castiel standing on his tiptoes next to him, trying to reach the tallest branches with a frown of concentration, his wings frozen half open behind him as if he was keeping his balance this way.

He takes out one ornament out of the box and has a small laugh. “Hey, look.” he says, as Castiel turns his head to look at him. “It's you” Dean says with a grin as he shows him a small angel with tiny white wings.

Castiel frowns at him. “No I don't think-”

Dean rolls his eyes at him and bursts into a laugh that causes Castiel to smile himself. They spent another hour hanging lights in all the house, and Dean thinks he will never see the end of the knots in them. He puts wreaths, garlands and bows until it shines to the point he grins like a child.

“Sam is never gonna believe it” he says, looking around at the walls that weigh down under all the shiny ornaments. He turns around to see Castiel looking at him with a stare so gentle his heart stops for a second. He clears his throat and walks to one of the outlets. “Alright, get ready.” he says as he plugs in the first lights.

As he goes around the house, dots of bright, haunted light appear, and it feels like they start to glimmer in his blood, shining gold, white, blue, green and red around him, filling all the space around. With a little sigh of effort, he finally comes back to stand next to Castiel and gives a look around, and cannot help but feel his breath caught by the beauty of the colors mixed around him, shining like fireflies in the dark.

But his heart completely stops when he turns to Castiel, his blood grows cold and fizzing in his veins as he sees him staring at the lights, his mouth slightly open in awe. The lights reflect their colors on his eyes, turning them into the stained glass windows of an abandoned church, his wings shining of a thousand different colors.

Dean swallows down hardly and walks to sit back in front of the fireplace, his heart shivering under an emotion so strong it makes his vision blurry and golden. He feels like a lovesick fool, which is truly impossible, for he doesn't believe such a powerful feeling could visit him.

 

He grabs some pillows from the couch before he puts them on the floor, and lays down, settling down on the soft carpet. From where he is, he sees all the strings of light hanging above his head, the colors blooming in his chest.

A moment after, he feels a presence next to him, a soft touch against his arm. He turns his head to see Castiel is now laying down next to him, shoulder against shoulder with him, one wing folded between them, the other slightly spread on his side. The lights cast neon shadows on his features, dance in his eyes as Dean loses himself in contemplation, his heartbeats slowing down, his breaths getting heavy on his chest.

“Tell me about _your_ life” he says, his voice just a hoarse whisper.

Castiel turns his head to him and dives his eyes into his, and they're so close Dean thinks his heart is going to burst with sparks of blue and white electricity. Castiel doesn't actually speak but he reaches a hand out to Dean and lands his fingertips on his cheek, making him shiver from head to toe.

 

Through touch, he makes him see what he couldn't never had imagined, not even in his wildest dreams.

He sees tall, evergreen pines above his head as needles fall down with crystal clear sounds, he sees each drop of rain crashing under the full moon, he hears whispers and lullabies, voices chanting hypnotic words to him as he falls into slumber, he feels the raw earth under his bare feet, each root and fern under his toes, the branches rough under his fingers, the spiderwebs sticky and covered of dew under his eyes, the sap like liquid amber flowing from the trees, the breeze gentle and fresh on his face as he closes his eyelids, letting himself fall from a cliff, wings strong and spread wide in his back. He feels each muscle, each bone, each feather as the wind carries him, as he turns into a cloud of white light, into something greater.

He sees hundreds of faces he never saw, some soft and benevolent, some cold as marble, noble and proud, with eyes like silver claws. He sees wolves, foxes and hounds running in one pack, he sees crows singing the morning, deers raising their dark heads to him as he walks near a small, shiny lake. He sees a bright, golden clearing and he sees his hands making a crown of leaves and branches.

And suddenly he stops breathing, for he sees himself through Castiel, an inoffensive afraid little creature staring at him with wide open green eyes, mouth open in shock. He sees how his whole body shiver when an immense luminous hand reaches out to him and lands on his skin, and he sees how stupefied he looks when he sees all these wings and eyes shining in front of him, in the middle of that warm bright forest. He aches a little when he remembers how he treated Castiel the second after, but the vision cuts right after, slowly fading back to reality as he removes his hand from his face, his eyes blue and orange under the flames, like lava flowing in the sea.

 

Dean wishes he could say something, but his eyelids are getting heavier, his mind slower and duller and Castiel seems to understand, gives him a gentle smile.

“Can I?” he asks, getting a little bit closer.

Dean nods, even though he doesn't know what he asks for. Not that he cares much.

Castiel approaches slowly, carefully as if he was afraid of Dean's reaction, but seeing he doesn't move, he nestles his head on his shoulder, hides his face from the flames into his neck, his breaths electrifying Dean's skin as Castiel's body completely collapses against his side. He curls up next to him, one wing spreading above them before it folds softly around them like a heavenly cover. Dean holds his breath as it lands on his belly and he feels so rough and dirty, his hands like rust on the immaculate white feathers, veins shining gold, red and orange underneath.

He dares to take a breath but no, the vision doesn't vanish, Castiel is still here against him, a hand clenching the fabric of his t-shirt, his breathing getting slower and slower against his neck. Dean feels a wave of emotion rushing through him, crashing blue against his bones as lowers his head to put his chin on the top of Cas' head, passing an arm underneath his body to hold him closer.

 

He doesn't know what road lead him to this moment, but God knows he doesn't regret walking on the darkest path in the first place.

 

 **X**

 

“You're still coming for Christmas, right?” Sam asks a few days later, when they're both watching TV at his place. Jessica is receiving poinsettias outside, entering the house from time to time, enormous plants with bright red leaves in her arms.

Dean turns to Sam, frowning. “Sure, why?” he asks, confused.

Sam shakes his head. “I don't know. You didn't like going to this kind of party before.”

“Still do. Especially when it's with you.” Dean laughs as Sam glares at him before he cracks a smile too. “Just kidding,” Dean finally adds a few moments later. “ 'Course I want to spend it with you and Jessica.”

“You do know we invite some friends?” Sam asks, a little worried.

“Yeah I know. Just like good old times, right?” Dean says, flashing a smile at his brother whose eyes brighten suddenly.

A weight falling on the couch makes Dean turns his head, as he sees Jessica clear eyes staring at him. “So I heard we'll be blessed by your presence?” she asks, ruffling Dean's hair as he groans at her.

“You know what? I've changed my mind.” he says before she hits his shoulder with her palm and both of them burst into a loud laughter.

“Right, Mr Grinch” Jessica says with a wide grin. “Just wanted to let you know you can bring someone too.”

Dean's smile freezes as his eyes get a little lost into space, his mind racing at the speed of light. He turns a foggy gaze to Jessica. “Really?” he hears himself ask. He doesn't even know what he's doing anymore.

He sees Jessica sharing a look with Sam over his shoulder. “You thinking of someone in particular?” she asks, a malicious spark in her eye. “What's her name?” she says, punching his arm once again.

“Cas” he answers before thinking. He grits his teeth at the mistake he's probably making. It's not like he'll get everything he wants. “ _His_ name is Castiel.”

Jessica opens in a little “o” shape and she suddenly wraps her arms around him. “That's so wonderful, Dean!” she exclaims before she gives him a beaming look. “Why didn't you tell us sooner!?”

“Why-” Dean starts as he frowns at her excitement and turns to Sam who gives him the same joyful, surprised stare. Since when does he have to tell them every detail of his life? It's not like he got married or something. He freezes and suddenly, he realizes. He turns back to Jessica with a desperate shake of his head. “No, no it's not like that! We're not- we're not _together_!”

Jessica raises an eyebrow. “Sure” she says, her skeptical stare making Dean feel so small. “That's not what your blushing face is telling me.”

“What?!” Dean exclaims a little too loud. “I'm not-” he protests before he turns to Sam for some help and this one nods at him, trying to repress a laugh. Dean closes his eyes for a second, realizing his mistake. “I'm not talking to you anymore, OK?” He gets up and grabs his stuff, before he passes by the couch once again. “I hate you two.”

“We know!” Sam and Jessica shouts in unison.

 

When he gets back from work on the evening, Castiel is in the kitchen, his back facing him. Dean stands in the door frame and slightly knocks on the door, leaning his head against the white door. Cas' head snaps at him and a wide smile spreads on his lips, as his half spread wings are covered by a glittery shiver. He walks to him in a few steps and before Dean can realize, his arms are wrapped around his waist, as Castiel's head makes its nest against his shoulder.

“Oh OK, alright” he says, first frozen under shock as he passes his own arms around Cas' shoulders. When he looks beyond his body, he sees the table has already been set and a meal is cooking on the stove. “You made this?” he whispers in a breath.

Castiel steps back, leaving a burning cold against him. He smiles at him. “Yes, I thought if I had to stay so often with you, I'd make myself useful” he answers, walking back to the table.

“You don't have to” Dean says, frowning as he sits down, his heart beating fast. “You know I don't mind.”

“Yes, but I wanted to” Castiel says as he puts the food in both their plates. He then sits down next to him, his wings curving behind him. “How was your work at the bar?”

Dean takes a whole mouthful and his soul nearly melts when he finally remembers the taste of warm, homemade food. “Good” he answers, barely breathing between two mouthfuls. “Except for the part some old grandma asked for straight vodka and took it down in one shot. Weirdest thing I've seen in my life.”

Castiel chuckles and gives him a gentle look. “How was your brother? And Jessica?”

“They were fine, planning Christmas and all” Dean answers as he drinks some beer. He then freezes and a heavy weight falls on his tongue, keeping him from saying more. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and he doesn't understand why he feels so nervous.

Castiel notices his silence and puts down his fork, frowning. “Is everything alright?” he asks, the tip of his wing reaching out to touch Dean's arm.

Deans swallows down, cursing himself mentally. “Yeah, yeah fine” He stares at Castiel's blue eyes shining under the old yellow lightbulbs hanging above them. He then closes his eyelids, gathering the courage he has left. “I have something stupid to ask.”

“Whatever it is, it's not stupid” he hears Castiel says next to him, his aura brushing against him.

Dean takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again to dive them into Cas'. “My brother and Jess are making a party for Christmas and I wanted to know if you'd come with me.”

Castiel's open wider and there's a shiver around him, pieces of his true form flickering around his silhouette. Dean swallows down, dreading his reaction. “I mean, I know it's impossible and even if it wasn't you probably wouldn't-”

“You wouldn't mind being seen with me?” Castiel asks at the same time, taking all Dean's words away from his mouth, leaving him speechless and wide eyed.

“What?” he exclaims, frowning. “No!” he gives him an incredulous look. “Why would I do that?”

Castiel softly shakes his head. “I didn't think I was worth being in the same room as your friends and family….” he answers in a whisper, lowering his eyes.

“What the-” Dean starts, completely taken by surprise. “I thought you wouldn't come because you wouldn't like being with humans”

Castiel frowns in return. “You'd be there” he says and it strikes Dean right in his heart.

“You don't have to accept” he says before he glances at Castiel's wings falling behind him. “And I didn't think about this-”

There's a rustle like leaves in the wind and suddenly they are no longer here, only leaving Castiel giving him a nearly desperate look. “I'd love to, if you still want it.” Despite his very human appearance, Dean can still see the odd light floating around him. “Besides, we know this day is sacred to humans, and I doubt anyone would try to disturb it.”

“Then come” Dean says, causing an incredulous look from Castiel. “Please” he adds, nearly begging.

 

A bright smile spreads on Castiel's face and Dean feels a soft, feathery like touch on his neck, though he cannot see the wide, translucent wings spreading next to him.

 

Time flies so fast and before he can realize, he's standing in the living room, ready to go to Sam's house, fixing Castiel's tie as this one seems to be a little shaking.

“What?” Dean asks, observing the white shirt on him. He started to borrow Dean's clothes a long time ago, but it still feels so odd and warm in his heart to see it floating a little on his chest. “You nervous?”

“Yes” Castiel answers, his eyes glimmering under the bright Christmas lights. He dives them into Dean's. “I promise I won't do anything wrong.”

Dean finishes doing his tie before he puts his hands on Castiel's shoulders. “I know. I should be the one worrying getting into a family dinner with a fae” He smiles at him. “You're going to be good, ok?”

Castiel nods and a heat of golden warmth surrounds Dean, thick and sugary as he gets outside and into the car. The ride is quite short but Dean takes all his time to observe Castiel as his eyes open a little wider when he sees the large lights hanging above the streets, a few shops still warm and bright, the lampposts throwing yellow orbs on the road covered by snow. It feels so strange to have him here in his car, with all his calm, shimmering aura filling the space.

 

As soon as he enters the house, he's stuck by the warmth and noise bubbling in the room and before he can realize, a storm of red hair and bright eyes has ran to him. But she's not looking at him, but at Castiel's tall and luminous silhouette.

“So you're Castiel. Sam told me everything, since Dean seemed, and I quote, _to appreciate you very much, like_ _ **a lot**_ _._ ” she says with a grin, before she jumps into his arms. “Nice to meet you, I'm Charlie!”

Castiel has a surprised look before he passes his arms around her shoulders, and gives Dean a little glance. This one feels the heat rising to his cheeks and he avoids his eyes, regretting his obvious attitude with Sam and Jessica.

“Alright, Charlie. Tell me you have someone else to embarrass” he groans as she steps back and hugs him instead, smiling widely like a child.

“Nah, you're my favorite” she says before stepping back and giving them a knowing, malicious look. “Alright, I have to find Gilda before she eats everything Jess has made, OK?” she says and before any of them can say anything, she has gone after her girlfriend, and their eyes are still following her as she wraps an arm around a beautiful woman with curly dark hair.

 

The rest of the evening flows smooth and bright, and Castiel strangely gets along with everyone. For one evening he pretends to be someone else, creating a family living far away, a work, hobbies and pets, telling how he met Dean who they were both walking their dogs near the forest. At first, Dean would constantly gives him nervous glance, but he soon realized he didn't his help, for everyone had that hypnotized look in their eye as he spoke, his warm aura surrounding each of them in a comfortable, familiar way.

Jessica and Sam immediately seemed to love him, for Dean saw them talking with Castiel many times. He couldn't repress a laugh when he overheard Sam babbling about flowers under Castiel's amused look.

 

At the end of the evening, when everyone is so full they only sit around the fireplace to talk about times Dean barely remember, he walks to the glass window to join a few of the guests on the patio. He observes the wide fields behind Sam's house. If his own yard is soon cut by the dark forest line, plains unfurls for miles behind Sam's, and he observes the snow silently falling, as the stars flicker in the night.

He feels a presence standing next to him and turns his head to see Castiel by his side, the deep blue scarf Jessica bought him falling on each side of his neck. Dean gives him a look as the champagne throws a thin fog on his head. “You OK?” he asks and Castiel turns to him, his eyes filled with a strong, warm emotion.

“Yes” he answers in a breath. “Better than I've ever felt.” he says before he turns back to the snowy garden. “You're lucky to have your family.”

Dean has a little laugh. “Yeah. I don't know why I didn't realize it sooner.”

Castiel shakes his head. “We don't know why some people are put in our path and we keep searching for a reason. Sometimes we die and we never found out.” He makes a small pause as he stares at the pale fields. “I used to think everything happened for a reason, that there was something greater than us making our way before us. Now I know we do have a choice in what we do.”

Dean holds his breath for a second before he gives him a look. “That's what you believe?”

Castiel nods and snowflakes shine like a crown in his dark hair. “That's what I believe, yes.” he says as he turns to him. “No one chose the way leading me to you, but me.”

Dean's heart drops in his chest. He stares at Castiel for a while, speechless before he realizes the warmth of his words and lets a smile spread on his mouth. “Well, so you're the kind to take everything but the easy road, hm?”

“It was worth it” he hears Castiel whispers next to him as he leans his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes and letting his aura flow around them.

Dean doesn't say anything, just observes the snow falling in that heavy silence holding all the magic in the world, and leans his own temple against Castiel's fresh hair. One of his hand is holding a glass full of golden champagne, but the other shyly reaches for Castiel', before he finally grips his fingers and wraps his own around them, tangling their cold palms together.

 

From the living room, Jessica has stopped in the middle of her steps, a plate in her hands and she covers them with a gentle look. Sam arrives by her side and his gaze falls on the two of them, before his lips break into a knowing smile.

“Only friends” Jessica whispers with a smile.

“Definitely” Sam says by her side, grinning the same way.

 

His knowing smile reappears when the last day of the year breaks in laughter and tears of joy, and he sees Dean staring at Castiel under the colorful fireworks, as this one is too mesmerized by the flowers of bright powder exploding on the night sky to notice. When the year is finally over, he sees Dean collapsing against him like he never saw him before, hiding his face in Castiel's neck, his hands clutching at his back as if he was afraid he would fade in his arms.

What he saw and Dean didn't was the mask of pure wonder and devotion painted on Cas' face as he closed his eyes, getting even closer to Dean, as if he could break his bones and soul against him.

There was something odd and mystical about their relationship, as if each moment was their last, as if they were constantly afraid of losing each other God knows how. It was no longer a secret that Dean spent his entire days with him, and Sam never saw him so alive.

 

Dean was fully aware of how he was letting the real world down, how he was drowning a little more into what could be insanity each day. When he was with Castiel, he didn't need to pretend he was someone else, that was fine when he was not, that he was strong when he was broken. Castiel was bearing his flaws and he was bearing his.

As they would lay in the snow, protected from the cold and ache of the world around, he would listen to him for hours as he watched it fall and fall, mixed with feathers and grace. He started to know every corner of Castiel's being, each rough edges and crack in his soul, and could feel himself nesting in his white bones as he would listen to him speak. In some way, Castiel became human and vulnerable to his side, and Dean became divine and holy with him.

 

Sam was all for that new life blooming in Dean, but he couldn't help but be worried by the way his brother was drifting away from everything else. He understood how his feelings were driving him feverish and mad for he lived through them himself, since the second he met Jessica.

“You tell me, I haven't heard from him for over a week” Daria tells him when he asks her where he can find Dean, one day that he drops by the bar.

 

Though his mind darkens and his heart beats faster, he can't do that to Dean. He can't just take his happiness away and watch him crumble again. He knows people would think he's insane to let such thing happen, to what he would ask them what's better: a dull life of sanity or a thrilling jump into madness? And he couldn't let himself describe Dean's state as insanity, because the heart is not mad, no he's just so fragile and ready to die for one, and only one person, for this one is the only thing it has been waiting for.

So he pushes his worry away, and pretends he ignores everything when he sees Dean, and he can't help but feel his days brighten when he knows he's out of that shadow he lived in during months. He only focuses on what he knows.

 

One: Castiel doesn't know his effect on Dean and it's not his fault in any way. Sam would defend him with all his strength if he had to.

Two: Dean loves him in a way that goes way beyond his imagination and he cannot spit on something he doesn't understand, he can't try to kill something as beautiful as the light in his brother's eyes every time Castiel enters the room.

 

**X**

 

One day that they're walking in the snow among the tall pines, Dean realizes he never felt so good. It strikes him right in his chest, turns his breath short and nearly painful. For years he felt like the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders, a constant burden diving his claws in his flesh, twisting his heart around, playing with it like a cruel animal plays with its dying prey. He spent so much time thinking happiness was too soft for him he actually forgot the taste it had on his tongue.

But now he remembers, and he realizes it has started to bloom inside him flower by flower, slowly but surely. First, he would not dare to believe the smiles spreading on his face, the sparks in his eyes as he would cross a mirror or the tingling in his stomach as he would come inside his house and see Castiel sitting in his armchair. But then, step by step, he began to open his soul more and more to that warm, delicious feeling he craved for so long.

It was a little miserable, for he realized how hungry he was for attention and affection, and he spent nights eyes wide open, worrying at the true nature of his feelings. What if he was just pretending so Castiel won't go? What if was just a selfish bastard using him in his own interest?

 

Now he realizes he never felt that way, it always felt so natural to be next to Castiel, to walk by his side, have dinner with him, fall asleep on the couch after midnight, put a blanket over his shoulders and wings when he was shivering. Maybe it was just because of the magical bond intertwining them, maybe it was from his own heart, or maybe it was both. He couldn't tell.

What he knows is that the nightmares and terrors are far, far away from him as he throws some snow on Castiel and the fae turns back, giving him a shocked look as Dean laughs until his belly hurts.

 

The second after, he's laying on his back, still laughing to the tears, Castiel sitting on his stomach, slipping his cold hands under his collar as Dean tries to get away, pinned down under his weight.

“Stop, stop it's cold!” he begs as Castiel has a satisfied smile, shaking the snow from his head, his wings spreading on his sides like long tears of ice above Dean's head.

“You shouldn't have done that” he says, putting his icy palms on Dean's hot neck, his veins glowing electric blue as Dean shivers under him, shaking of laughter.

“You're so gonna regret this” Dean says as he pushes all his strength against Castiel and this one ends up on his back, wings spread under him in the snow, leaving strange patterns in it. He stares at Dean, breathless, and this one realizes how close they are, how his own breathing is fast and distraught, how his heart beats desperately in his chest, how the forest is strangely silent around them.

He sees Castiel's wide blue eyes staring at him, and waves shake in them, he sees his hair tending to the black covered of snow, and he sees all his wings and halos whispering in the breeze, glowing softly under the trees. His chest is rising and crashing quickly and his veins are turning gold as Dean leans to him, slowly, carefully, his vision shaking red on the edges.

 

He thinks he feels the world shiver when he kisses him, he thinks he hears the stars and void between them cry when he feels Castiel's hands framing his face, trembling and warm and divine. He thinks the Universe is stopping when his lips crash against his and his soul melts like gold in his mouth, worlds come crumbling down in his bones. Diamonds rain behind his closed eyelids, deserts blow between his ribs, a whole procession of creatures and angels sing in his head until he doesn't hear anything, just anything but Castiel's breathing against his.

 


	3. Death

Every day that follows feels like Dean is walking in a solar glow, constantly surrounded by a warm, dancing light around him.

 

It took some time to find a balance between the real world that is so dull and gray to him, and the wonder he feels by Castiel's side. As mesmerized as he was for this other universe next to his, it was hard to rip himself from the whispers and sparks flying in the air, the bright moon bathing the field in a ghostly halo and the crows speaking in his dreams.

 

But he knew he was running to his downfall and if he kept ignoring the reality, who knew what could happen? Someone could have called some doctors to check on him and no matter what he would have said, they'd have seen the insanity moving in his eyes. So, he came to work again, truly feeling awful for treating Daria and Clarke this way, and he couldn't stop stuttering on his apologies once he faced them. To his greatest surprise, they didn't feel any anger or contempt towards him, only a pure joy when he came back, mixed with a strong worry.

He tried to reassure them the best he could, pretending he had lost his way and needed some time to adjust. He felt even worse lying to them as they would give him a compassionate look and explain how it happened to them before, when it felt like the weight of life was too heavy for them to carry, when all the eyes would turn to them and every tongue would unfurl its most hurtful songs as they would walk down the street.

They forgave him and held him in their arms through warm smiles and tears of relief and Dean couldn't help the distraught beats of his heart. For months and years he believed he was alone in a cold, cruel world that kept putting obstacles in his way, and God knows how dark the path was, how shaking were his hands when he tried to hold all his pieces together.

 

Sure, he had Sam and Jessica, and he knew their love for him, but he always felt like a burden to bear. He's sure Sam would be hurt to know he thought this way, but his twisted mind kept telling him he was a weight to carry and these voices were so loud they shut down every other sound to only focus on his torment.

But now he feels alright, as if every ripped thread has been tied back to his being, as if he was no longer bloody pieces scattered in the snow but a whole person, brought back together by a celestial light.

 

He still can't believe such a thing happened to him, who thought he was crazy for years, who was still broken by the look on his mother's face. Who felt frozen by every dark vision appearing to him at night, completely paralyzed by every shadow brushing against him. Who was hypnotized yet terrified by these tall, dark pines casting their shadows like merciless gods over his home.

 

He never believed in God or anything. For years, it felt absolutely sure the world was made the way he was seeing it, that there was no light to guide him through the dark. He thought that the world was just a rock among millions of others, surrounded by dying stars and void, and that humans were just rotting flesh and bones, nothing more. He never believed in the soul, for him there was no ethereal glow, no pale smoke shaking behind his ribs, just a bleeding, aching heart beating fast.

And yet, here he was, embraced by a divine aura every time he came home, and he was not just talking about strong arms around his waist, but a whole sea of pale orange light, moving its waves around his body, crashing against him. It was a whole heavenly sky tumbling down on him, wrapping itself around his sore muscles, soothing him through whispers and lullabies. It was a whole Universe kissing his lips turned blue by the cold.

 

He couldn't say how grateful he felt, how blessed even, to share his days with Castiel. They were not only seeing each other from time to time, but spending all their time together, no matter where Dean was going. Sam and Jessica grew very fond of that strange looking man and kept asking about him when he couldn't come with Dean. They would also stay with them at their shop, watching the clients come and go, surrounded by a soft scent of happiness.

He gathered so much memories he doesn't know if he can't hold them all in his heart. He feels like he's overflowing, like there's a whole meadow blooming in his spine, making him stronger, turning him into steel as his heart is melting like gold in his chest, dripping honey behind his ribs.

 

He remembers the one time he caught a cold. He came one evening after work, shivering, all sore and numb, feeling like thorns had grown in his throat. He assured Castiel everything was fine, that he was strong and fierce and didn't mind a little, laughable illness. But it didn't stop Cas and for days, the fae stood by his side, taking care of him like no one did before.

The little cold turned out to be something way stronger and he spent a week curled up under the several layers of sheets and blankets, shaking like an animal in the snow, his head hurting as if millions of little hammers were carving a temple in his skull. Every sound, every light was too loud, too bright and he would moan of pain, feeling miserable and powerless in his fragile human body. The fever was devouring all his brain like hungry worms and he would clench his fists and teeth, trying to bear the fire in his belly as much as he could.

 

In his whole life, he can't remember anyone who took care of him when he was not strong. From when he was a kid, he has very few memories of his mother leaning to him, and most of the time, he remembers the disappointed face of his father as he would look at him, small and broken in his cold bed. After his mother left, he pretty much became the only person taking care of Sam and as he would try to cure him, he would get sick himself. Except there, no one was here to tuck him in, make sure he's warm and comfortably numb, making sure his throat isn't too dry, his lungs too tight.

No, he would be completely alone, keeping his mouth shut as all his limbs would hurt as if daggers were piercing his flesh. His father was mostly drowning his grief in alcohol and he wouldn't dare to come and disturb him. So he would walk to the kitchen, make dinner for Sam and him, shivering over the oven as he would warm up a brick of soup, his white little hands turning the spoon in the thick liquid, trying to find some comfort in the soft smell of the food. He would make sure Sam had everything before he would sip his own meal with blue, trembling lips. He would put his brother to bed, taking the time to reassure him about the future, telling him he would always be there for him.

He would then crawl to his own bed and makes his body as small as he could, just a ball of fear and weakness in the dark. He would shut his eyes tight and try to forget the life around, try to fall into the gentleness of slumber. But it was hard and painful the first years, as his young heart would still be aching of the gap his mother created when she left. And as if it wasn't enough, the creatures would still be scratching at his windows, making him shake in his bed, hot tears streaming down his face as he would under the covers, terrified.

 

Even if he wasn't much helpful, it all become worse when his dad left too, because he became the only pillar of the house. He had to leave school and began to work to make sure Sam had a decent life. Of course, friends of his parents and members of a distant family helped them a little, especially with the money, but it was nothing compared to what he had to fix in Sam's wounded soul. He had to become a mother and a father for him, while also stand as a brother in the same time.

Oh, sure his heart felt warm when he would pick Sam from school and see him walking with a swarm of friends, or as he would watch the bright pink rise to his brother's cheeks as he would cross a girl's way. But deep down, he felt terribly, awfully, painfully alone and nothing and no one could fix that up. He didn't have friends, not in the way he wanted to. There was no one he could rest his heavy head on, no one to confess. The relationships he had with girls and boys would end quickly, and no matter how cold he played, his being was shattering a little deeper as he would see them walk away.

He was only counting on Sam's presence, knowing his heart beat the same way as his. When he left for college, it finished to break him to the core. He knew Sam deserved it, he knew he had suffered just like him, but his blood felt like acid when he congratulated him. Soon after, he entered the army, fought and ached, then came back home wounded in such a way the nurses gave him that look full of pity he hated so much.

 

After all this, affection felt so odd, as if he was seeing a new color for the first time. His heart missed several beats when Castiel frowned at his feverish eyes and immediately walked him to bed, promising he would watch over him. His breathing went painful when Castiel tried to ease his sickness the best he could, his soft fingertips on his forehead as a fresh blue light would spread under his skin. His vision turned blurry when Castiel put several blankets on him before he slipped under the covers and snuggled next to him, his body warm and strong by his side as he would spread one of his wing over him, wrapping Dean in a celestial bubble.

He couldn't believe it when he saw Castiel bringing him some steaming broth, cover him with a worried look, let his fingers run through his hair as Dean's head would rest on his chest, as he would make some blue sparks appear in the air when Dean got bored of staying in bed all day. He couldn't believe how Cas would cover his face and hands of kisses, making flights of birds shake in his stomach.

 

He has many other gentle memories, and sometimes they almost feel like they aren't his, as if they were too soft for his rough, callous mind.

Once, he came to dinner with Sam and Jessica before they went to an aquarium together, and he saw Castiel's eyes widen as he would raise them to the sharks and rays swimming lazily above his head. They went to a park at night to see the fall of a thousand shooting stars and he saw Castiel's wings spreading clear and transparent under the night as his fingers would wrap themselves around the fae's. They slept against each other's bare chests, listening to the naked beating of their hearts, all the secrets unraveling under their curious ears.

 

He sees his salvation in Cas, when he leans to pet a dog as they walk by, when he lets his wings shine briefly when a kid stares at him, when he arrives from the forest after a few days of being absent, all disheveled hair covered in ferns and moss. He sees the end of this suffering at the bottom of his eyes, the last thing he sees before he closes his owns each night.

If there's something he loves more than the unconditional love he's given, it's the way Cas confides in him. He hides nothing from him, even if he knows how dangerous these mystical secrets are to his human heart. He tells him about his world, about all the colors, sounds and sensations he felt, and through him Dean lives another life.

 

But the most amazing thing Dean felt, the one that takes his breath away each time, is the bond wrapping its ribbons around them. These golden threads, they sew them together, they keep them in one piece, and no matter how far they are from each other, their presence is always felt. If Dean didn't understand how it could feel when Castiel first mentioned it, he now realizes his mind wasn't open enough to get it.

It's beyond physical. It's nothing he can touch, it's something he can only see through glimpses of golden and silver light. When Castiel has to go for one or more days, and Dean is left alone in an empty, cold bed, he pushes his mind to him when he can't find sleep. Almost immediately, he feels Castiel's soul answering to him. There are no words and no thoughts, but waves of light shivering in his bones and through them, he can talk to him for hours, when the loneliness gets too heavy for both of them.

It's a sensation he never thought he would need, but now he doesn't know how he could survive without it. It's strong, shaking, pulsing in his veins when Castiel is close, it sings when he speaks, it whispers when he breathes. It's soft, soothing and sunny when he's away, moving like an ocean of light in his chest. This way, he can find him among the blackest night, the thickest crowd, the deepest ocean

He had settled down in an overflowing bliss, a never-ending joy that left him in complete awe like a lovesick fool. He was finally tasting happiness and as if it wasn't enough, he knew it was the same for Castiel, who kept repeating it to him through deep stares and honey sweet shivers in their bonds.

 

Though he should have known nothing ever lasts forever in the darkness of this world.

 

One night, he's woken up by a twinge in his chest and sits straight in his bed, searching for the light, his hands fluttering around him as if he was a blind man lost in a labyrinth. Once the warm halo fills the room, he sits there, each breath creating a blast of pain behind his ribs. He gasps for air but it gets more violent each time, his heart starting to thunder, the blood pumping loud in his veins as he looks around, breathless.

He gets up and his legs shake under his body. He walks as fast as he can to the kitchen, and his eyes burn, his head is heavy and sore, as if a fire started in his brain, slowly eating it away to only leave gray ashes.

He swallows back a little cry of pain and fills a glass with water, swallows it down quickly, hoping it will stop the hot pain. It doesn't disappear but it's a little less violent, just a flow of lava in the back of his body.

He leans against the sink and closes his eyes, clenching his jaw of ache. He hates being alone, it's always in these moments he becomes so vulnerable to life and its constant cruelty. Castiel had to leave for some kind of hunt and ceremony, and he assured Dean he would be back as soon as he could. Dean felt his heart tighten but he said nothing, only pulled Cas close to breathe in his hair, hold him against his chest before he put a kiss on his mouth and watched him walk to the forest, his wide translucent wings spread behind him.

He wishes he was here. He knows he could have eased his pain, even a little, just by whispering strange words to him while his fingers would glow bright blue and the sharp sensation would fly away.

 

But he's not there and the feeling turns into something more. It's like there's a hand in his chest, slowly pulling him in a direction he doesn't want to take. As if there is a hook in his soul and someone, or something, is calling him to the shore. It feels strange and he frowns, nauseous and distraught. He walks to his glass window and stares at the forest, his breathing slow and painful.

The sensation only gets brighter and shouts and screams in his veins, dives deep in his boiling blood. Now he recognizes it, even though it's confusing him. It's the same thing he feels through his bond with Castiel. It's an invisible bridge linking them together, a thread of light that pulls him close to the fae. But this time, it's odd and cold, and more worrying, it's violent.

It's nothing like the soft, golden glow shining between them, snapping like solar flares when they get a little too far from each other. It's a cold knife of ice diving in his heart, a glacial wind blowing on his lungs. It feels sick and bright, fluorescent green, an illness sleeping in his bones, barking with all its fangs. He shivers violently, feeling like the whole night is closing around him.

 

Could Castiel be in danger? That would explain why their bond turned so bitter and icy. The worry spreads inside him and he swallow down, shaking on his feet. What if something happened to Cas and this is the only way he has to call for help? No matter how these woods – because it's definitely the forest calling him with all its ancient voices – frighten him, he can't pretend he feels nothing and stay warm and safe inside, when Castiel could be wounded in the depths of the trees.

 

He takes a deep breath and walks as fast as he can to his bedroom, gets dressed in warm clothes before he grabs his coat and goes outside. Gunner gives him a whine but Dean pats his head and closes the door behind him. He tightens his jacket around him, his teeth chattering in the cold wind. He walks until he has closed the little rusty gate and stands between the field and his garden, unsure.

The sensation is still here, its pulse following the same beat as his heart. It draws him into the belly of the forest, dark whispers diving into his skull. His heart feels tight, too small for all the blood rushing under the skin of his wrists. It's a force forcing him to walk, something beyond his comprehension.

 

He starts to approach the forest, his feet diving in the soft mud of the field, his worry keeping getting stronger. There's something off about Castiel's call. It feels like his soul is covered by something, as if this link guiding him to the trees was a masquerade, as if his bright blue heart was covered by something else, thick and sticky around the thread reaching to Dean.

 _Maybe it's the pain, or the fear,_ Dean thinks and he hopes he's right. He hopes something far worse didn't happen and this strange change in their connection isn't just the way it's decaying.

 

He finally arrives through the trees and the call is getting strong, almost begging, sharp with agony and Dean walks faster, his heart aching in his chest. No, he can't loose Cas, or he would be driven insane. He starts running, his breath getting short and cold in his throat as the call swells and swells in his head, his own part of the link shining brighter.

He pushes his soul before him and it has a long, sorrowful cry, calling for Cas' one so he can know where he is. He keeps running and a quiet moment later, he hears his answer, strong and desperate, not so far away from him. He runs and runs between the pines, the woods bathed in a ghostly halo, the moon like an evil eye above him. The trees cast frightening shadows around him and sometimes his heart stops when he thinks he saw one moving, or some shiny eyes behind a bush.

 

Suddenly Castiel's cry stops and so does he. He stands in the middle of the woods, breathless, his hands and knees shaking as he looks around, terrified. He pushes his soul but it's suddenly blocked by a stronger force, a wall of silver and fire stopping him from reaching to Castiel. He lets out a cry of worry and pain and his eyes jump on every light, every leaf, searching for familiar white wings.

 

And then, something moves among the tall ferns. He freezes, his body tense. A silhouette shapes among the thick darkness, slowly walking to him.

“Cas?” he aks, his throat dry and sore, his voice like a scared little child's.

 

When the stranger enters the ring of white light, his whole body is covered by a shiver as hot sweat runs down his spine. A tall woman with long, shimmering silver hair stares at him, her icy blue eyes diving into his heart.

Before he can speak, her crystal clear voice thunders around him, turning all his blood into melted snow. “Get him” she says, her words snapping in his ear, violent and ancient in his skull as he winces, his eyes opening wide of fear.

He tries to protest but before he can say a word, strong hands grip his arms and he turns around fast, to see two men holding him, staring at him with dark, threatening eyes.

“What-” he starts, his breath short and whistling in his mouth. “Where's Cas!?” he shouts, desperate.

The silver woman gives him a calm look with her eyes like ponds filled with moon tears. She walks to him, her steps wide and silent like a panther and in a second, she's facing him, her frosty breaths gripping his heart. She raises her hand, long, sharp fingernails approaching his temples.

“What are you doing!?” he asks in a shaking, terrorized cry.

 

When her fingertips land on his skin, it feels like all his mind is sucked into her now fully white eyes. And suddenly, the memories flash behind his eyelids, hot and bright and the woman sips them through her lips, seem to taste them before she spits them out. They all come back, strong and proud in his head and he remembers everything in his every detail.

The first time he saw Cas' silhouette sitting on the ground, the way something created sparks when his fingers first landed on his shoulder, the blast of light, the wings and eyes and halos and the hand on his cheek, his breath caught by the soft cloud in front of him, the realization, the fear, the guilt and grief, the cold, the feathers on his arm, the feeling nothing will ever be the same.

He remembers the screams, the blood, his shaking hands, his body covered by a warm, pale wing, Cas' arms around his waist, holding him tight, the fireplace and armchair and bright screen, his hands on soft dark hair, the loneliness, his bed warm and gold, his fingers intertwined with Cas', the bright lights hanging above their heads, their slow breaths caressing each other, the fireworks in the night sky, his body shaken by laughter in the snow, his mouth crashing against his, his hands on Cas' bare skin, each day he spent in his company in that golden sparkling bubble he couldn't explain.

The woman suddenly steps back and he coughs, blood dripping from his mouth, thick, red and bright as it falls to his feet. She has a little disgusted twist of her features.

“That is what I feared.” she says, her eyes like hard stones on Dean.

He breathes heavily, his head aching as if it had been crushed under all the trees of this forest. He tries to look at her but her eyes are flames in his skull and he lowers his gaze, miserable. She has a little sigh, as if she was just slightly annoyed.

“I suppose we will have to take care of this.” she says and this time Dean's head snaps to her, his heart beating fast and painfully.

 

But once again, his words are cut by her glacial white fingers on his skin and suddenly his eyelids are too heavy, he falls into an abyss of darkness, but it's not soft and soothing like sleep. It's rather something tainted by dread and pain, flashing hot red, moving like a mad sea. The last thing he sees is the woman's turning back to the shadow of the forest, her hair falling into long steel threads on her back as he is dragged by the two other men, his heart like a stone in his chest.

 

**X**

 

He brutally comes back to reality when he's thrown on the ground.

 

All the air in his lungs is pushed out of them and he stays on his knees, holding his ribs as the pain blooms behind them. The fear shakes in his stomach as he tries to raise his head to look around, blinking fast as his eyes burn and tears of fire make his surroundings blurry. When he's finally able to breathe in a shaking breath and see what's in front of him, it's his heart that stops, frozen under shock.

 

Hundreds of eyes are staring at him, tall, dark silhouettes in a circle around his shaking body as each of them lean to another to whisper words he cannot understand. Some spit at his feet, others make a step to him, forcing him to crawl back, terrified.

He raises his head to see he's in the deepest part of the forest, where the shadows are heavy, where the pines are tall and the ground covered by thick ferns and moss. He tries to look beyond the silhouettes but they're gathered tight around him, like a black sea of oil in front of his eyes. He searches the strength and courage inside him, deep beneath his bones, only to find a very human fear nesting in them.

 

The silhouettes are getting closer, some curious hands reach out to him and he stumbles back, shivering, giving afraid looks around, only creating waves of mocking laughter from the dark strangers. He still feels a little dizzy, his head hurting him to the tears, his heart beating furiously in his chest. His hands are scraped, small drops of blood are bubbling on the skin covered in dirt and grass. No matter how hard he tries to focus on the silhouettes, they are still moving like a blurry sea, only made of a thick mass of shadows, moving with excitement and curiosity around this strange little animal. Sometimes he can see a pair of glowing eyes, sometimes he hears the flutter of enormous wings.

 

He tries to make his body small, just like when he was a child. All this crowd swarming around him awakens flashes of fear and pain in his mind. One moment he is in the middle of the forest, the second he's back into a dark, damp room and he waits for Death to arrive. For one moment he's under the scented pines and the other he's back in the sandy air, a weapon against his heart, terror chewing his brains. He lets out a small sob, trying to keep the bright flashes of light and loud sounds away from him, only creating more laughter from the silhouettes.

He starts to shake violently and his skin is covered of hot, sticky sweat. His movements are either too slow and heavy or too quick and he falls on his back, his breath short on his chest. The strangers keep getting closer and he feels hands, claws, feet and wings touching him, and every time he tries to get away, another monstrous limb reaches out to him, and dozens of eyes stare at him with fascination or disgust.

 

He thinks he's going to pass out when a familiar voice thunders.

“Enough!” it says and suddenly, the crowd stops moving. It's not a black, buzzing entity anymore but dozens, hundreds of persons turning like one to the silver woman he saw before.

 

She stands tall, her chin held high, a hand in the air to calm the crowd down. Almost unwillingly, they step back from him, glancing at him with a little disappointed pout. As they stand still, Dean can now see each one of them.

Their features are carved into the marble or the ebony, the oak or the ivory and they look incredibly cold. The skin is tight on the bones, the eyes are bright as burning stars, the smiles are carnivorous. Dean's breath is caught by the long, sharp horns, tails, claws and fangs, translucent skin where he can see their ruby hearts beating underneath, glowing blood, electric green filling the whole eyes, and of course wide, bright wings of a thousand of colors.

The silver woman waits for the silence before she slowly steps back and sits gracefully on a throne made of branches and bones. “Bring him to me.” she orders and two men grabs Dean by his arms, brutally making him stand on his feet as he winces of pain. They walk him to her and his eyes cross curious, disgusted, fascinated, hateful ones. He's finally thrown at her feet, and he raises his head to her.

“Who are you?” he croaks, and his voice makes a few gasp, as if they were surprised such an animal can talk.

The woman gives him a look that makes him close his mouth, suddenly realizing she could order his death with a snap of her fingers. But to his greatest surprise, she speaks. “I have many names. But my people call me Mother.” she says, giving him a bright smile full of white, sharp teeth. She wears a long coat of pale furs sewed with golden threads and silver beads are scattered in her hair.

Dean swallows down, intimidated by her royal gaze. “What am I doing here?” he asks, giving a look around as he is still on his knees. A few young children point at him, while all the adults cover him with the same unsettling glowing eyes.

Mother has a little laugh that spreads in the crowd. “You ask what you are doing here?” she says and Dean notices a sharp, foreign accent in her words that covers each ones of honey and blood. She suddenly gets up, making his body stiffen, and she slowly walks to him, her height weighing down on him. “Oh, but I think you know why you are here, _Dean Winchester_ ” she adds, his name sounding wrong and despised on her tongue.

“No-no I don't I swear-” he stutters, pushing his soul to Castiel, and once again he's blocked by a whole of moving smoke.

Mother's eyes darken and she pinches her lips together. She gets up and gives a look around, scanning the crowd. “See, this is why I always hated mankind.” She lowers her gaze to Dean and her eyes seem to glow red under her crown of little bones, white leaves and gold. “They are not just violent and impulsive. They have a special taste for lies.”

“I'm not lying” Dean snaps, feeling the anger swells under the dread.

 

The queen clenches his jaw, her reign disturbed by his words. She turns in one move to him and suddenly, two wide wings spread on her sides. They are made of long, sharp feathers as white as snow, as cold and cruel as her face. They don't join her back in a soft curve like Castiel's, but in a short angle, a claw at the top of each. She turns to stand a breath away from him and he has to raise his head until his neck hurts to look at her.

“Well, if you are so ignorant, I will tell you” she says as she makes a little move with her wrist. One man with somber brown wings approaches, her bright yellow eyes strong and determined. “We do not want to spoil our dignity with pathetic humans” she says.

The man gives a kick in Dean's ribs. He has a surprised, strangled little cry as he gives the woman a confused look. “I don't understand...” he says.

“It is simple” Mother says, her voice thundering in his bones. “Our ancestors tried to talk to your race, but it was vain from the beginning. Your humanity bears all the flaws in the creation, and nothing and no one can tame the madness inside you.”

There's another blow in his back, in the middle of his spine and he bent forward, his breath cut by the pain as he sees a blonde man stepping back, laughing.

“You are so vile and despicable, you are just a pack of lost, vicious animals and we cannot live in your midst. It is our one and only rule.”

A claw dives in his shoulder and he has a cry of pain, turning too slow to stop the motion as a woman with long, sharp nails come to stand next to the two other men, a cruel smile painted on her thin lips.

“It ruined our blood” the silver woman keeps going, running her hands in his short hair only to grab it at the back of his head and makes him stare at her in the eye, wincing. “Your impure nature nearly lead us to our destruction.”

A blow in his jaw and he falls on his side, before he spits thick blood, his breathing now painful and heavy. He tries to raises an arm to protect himself but his limbs are slow and weigh like hundreds of rock are tied to his bones.

Mother doesn't blink. Her eye is cold and stares at him mercilessly. “I cannot let my own son run to his downfall because of something as meaningless as a human.”

Dean frowns, all his body hurting. Before he can speak, there's another kick in his back and his words are stuck in his throat as he closes his eyes, trying to repress the visions coming like the Flood as much as he can. He then raises his head to look at her, shaking violently. “I don't know what you're talkin' about” he mutters, his tongue heavy and dry.

A sharp nail cuts his cheek and he lets out a scream of pain. He holds his wounded flesh and curls on the soil, rivers of dusty memories rushing in. He hears foreign words, feels knives and spikes dive under his skin, he feels calloused hands slapping his face, clenched fists hitting his stomach as he clenches his jaw, keeping a stone cold mask on.

“I cannot let him be his own destruction” Mother says and her eyes shine with a familiar, bright blue. “He has lost his way and it is my duty to show him the right path again.”

Kick in his stomach. He swallow back a scream. He doesn't know if he's in a sandstorm or in the strong wind of the forest anymore. He only knows the pain, he only knows he has to contain that pain and be strong, strong, _strong_.

 

“We are not fools. We have been watching him and we know he comes to you everyday. We know about that...” Her features twist in a disgusted way. “… _connection_ you share.” She shakes her head. “But it cannot go on any longer.”

He raises his face that started to pulse of pain and he catches her eye. A soft blue spark in her aura makes him realize, and his heart freezes. “Cas?” he asks, his voice just a broken whisper.

This time it's her hand that slaps him hard across the face, leaving a burning mark on his skin as he suffocates, gasping for air.

“Castiel! His name is Castiel!” she thunders, electricity wrapping itself around strands of her hair. She shakes her head, her eyes like clouds announcing the storm. “I do not know what… trick you used, what game you played with his mind, but I will not accept your desire to change what he is!”

Dean shakes his head, feeling nauseous and sore to the deepest pit of his bones. “I wouldn't do anything-”

This time, she slaps him with her wing, the sharp feathers leaving a print on his whole soul as he's thrown on the ground, too shocked to speak. He stares at her, blinking silently as tears of frustration rise to his eyes.

She gives him a hard look, a pale fire covering her feathers. “I know humans” she says, spitting her anger at him. “You destroy everything you see, your touch is poisonous!” She tilts her head to dive her eyes into his, in a way that's so familiar it hurts his being. “Don't you think I've already seen one of our people falling for one of you? Don't you think I've seen enough of the damage you cause to everything that's breathing on this Earth?” A shadow passes on her eyes. “I cannot let you do more harm.”

Dean sits straight and stares at her, shivering, desperate. “I would never hurt him, OK? I know you probably have no reason to believe me but I won't!” His words get stuck in his throat, and a ball of grief swells in his lungs. “I know humans disappointed you, alright? But that doesn't mean we're all like this.” She keeps staring at him, silent and he takes a deep, shaking breath, dreading the next kick he'll get. “We can love, create and grieve, just like you. It's not because we made mistakes in the past that we deserve your hate!”

“You don't understand” she says, shaking her head, her eyes glassy, her fists clenched on her sides. “It does not matter if you want it or not. It is in your blood. Chaos, destruction, _death_. You may have noble intentions for now, but sooner or later, you will cause the greatest pain” she says, in an almost gentle, compassionate way.

Dean crawls a little closer to her, standing on his knees. “But you got to believe.” He shakes his head, his soul burning inside. “I thought for my whole life you were all monsters and Cas changed my opinion on you.” He dives his eyes into her, begging. “You got to let me do the same for you.”

 

She stares at him for a moment, silently, as if she was sounding his aura for lies. Dean holds her gaze, barely breathing and every inch of his skin burn, scarred by vicious fingers and wings. He tries to call Castiel through their bond, but he's too tired, too weak to even reach his own soul. His whole body is heavy, sore and he only wishes he could collapse to the ground and return to earth, so he could sleep forever.

Finally, Mother speaks.

 

“I cannot let another tragedy happen” she says and dread spreads in Dean as he sees her raising her head to look at the crowd, her face turning back into a cold, cruel mask. “Remember this, my children, humans will try to trick you into believing them! They look like us, but they are nothing like us! They are thieves and killers! They only want to destroy us, one way or another.” Her eyes are set on fire, flames dancing at the pit of these soapy oceans. “Never trust one of them or you will pay it with your life!”

The crowd roars with hundreds of different voices, hands shake, fangs appear, eyes turn yellow under the bright full moon, wings have wide beats that create storms in Dean's bones. He gives Mother a confused look, to what she answers with a cold stare as she leans to him.

“The human must die. Now” she whispers and her icy breath freezes Dean whole as he shakes his head, trying to protest but it's too late.

With a wide move of her bony wings, she pushes him into the crowd and he falls on his back, soon surrounded by dozens of creatures and suddenly, their faces without flaws become monstrous, illuminated by a devouring insanity as their hands reach out to him, scratch his skin, search a way to rip out his veins his bones. He sees little knives, he sees claws, he sees teeth under the moon and a sudden rush of strength helps him pushing them for a second before he gets on his feet, trembling from head to toe.

“You're making a mistake!” he shouts to Mother, desperate. There's no threat in his voice.

She gives him a numb look before her lips crack into a wide, terrifying smile. “Let your rage flow, my children!” she says, opening her arms on her side, her hair and face bathed in the ghostly halo of the moon.

 

The crowd howls and they jump on Dean. He clenches his fists and tries to touch some of them, manages to do so a few times, feeling flesh and bone break under his knuckles. But he's alone and there are hundreds of them. He's soon sucked into the sea of darkness and falls on his back, as they roar and shout.

He fights for a moment, but his body becomes heavy, numb and yet hot of pain. The ache, it spreads like a disease in his bones, runs in his blood like horses of war. He feels claws scratching his wrists, trying to reach his blue veins, he feels teeth diving in his flesh, biting him to the blood and he screams, mad of agony. They are vultures and each one of them want to take a bite in this odd, yet appetizing little prey. He drowns in the blackness a little more each second, and he barely breathes, his heart slows down as the monsters swarm around him, and he's lying again in the sand, his blood dripping under his body as he hears voices around him, hands shaking his already cold body.

 

The edges of his vision are getting blurry and black when a sudden flash of bright blue light fills every atoms of his surroundings. The creatures around him have a cry of surprise and they crawl away, getting closer to Mother as the light grows stronger, the wind roars behind Dean and he tries to move, but the pain stops him and he winces, the sensation becoming unbearable. Millions of whispers resonate around him as threads of blue light fly to him, wrap themselves around his torn apart body.

Slowly, a cloud of pale smoke surrounds him, all eyes and halos and wings beating the air furiously. Ribbons of silk float next to his head and he thinks he's dreaming, he thinks he's dying because he's suddenly next to a warm, yet ghostly chest and there are hands holding the blood that's flowing black. Soft, velvety fingertips flutter on his skin and a fresh winter sets in his veins, eases the burning pain in his limbs as a gleam spreads inside him, fixing the broken bones, nesting in the gaping holes the hungry teeth made in his flesh.

He starts to breathe with ease again and he raises his head to see dozens of worried eyes staring down at him, hands running in his hair, wrapping their fingers around his, feeling the beat of his heart, as dozens of others ones stare with the purest anger at Mother and her people.

Spark by spark, the cloud collapses on itself, gets closer to the ground, gathers itself under one form made of flesh and bone and Castiel is suddenly holding him against him, all his limbs shaking violently, his hands clutching at his jacket, electricity running under his palms, bringing life back into Dean's tired soul. When he feels like he has enough strength, Dean sits straight and looks at him, to see his wrathful blue eyes, clenched jaw and tense wings curled around them in a heavenly shield.

 

“What have you done?” Castiel asks behind his clenched teeth, dozens of voices echoing in Dean's sore head.

Mother holds her chin high. “Castiel” she says, covering him of a numb look, a thin smile on her lip. “I thought you were on a hunt.”

“I was” he snaps, his eyes darkening like a stormy sky. “But I heard him calling me.”

Mother frowns and seems to loose a little of her confidence. “How so?” she asks.

“Through the same bond you used to trick him” Castiel says, his voice as cold as ice. “You used our connection to lead him here because you couldn't hurt him in his world. You made me go on this hunt because you knew I wouldn't be here to protect him” he says, narrowing his eyes, boiling of anger.

Mother has a little laugh. “Oh, Castiel, this is silly. How would I have known your pet would follow your call so blindly?”

“How did you do it?!” Castiel shouts for the first time, making Mother flinch. “How did you make him believe I was the one calling him?!”

She gives him a compassionate look. “I am your mother, Castiel. I know you.” She waves her hand lightly, as if she didn't order a man's death a few moments before. “Besides, it is not difficult to imitate the vain feelings this creature waits from you.”

Dean feels a hurricane growing in his stomach. He suddenly gets up under Castiel's worried eye, and even if his whole body shakes, he stares at Mother without blinking, all his rage flowing in his veins. “You're going to regret this” he says, diving his eyes into hers, pushing all his anger to her in a burning wave.

She chuckles, pushes a strand of silver hair behind her shoulder. “Really? And how are you going to get your revenge, hm?” she asks with a mocking smile. “Do you really think you could hurt me and Castiel would let you?” She has a loud, brutal laugh that shows all her fangs. She looks at Castiel, her wings shivering of amusement. “Darling, please tell him, you can end this game now. Your little animal is getting too hopeful” she says, glancing at Dean with a look full of pity.

Dean's blood freezes in his veins and he doesn't dare to look at Castiel, afraid of the change he could see in his eyes, and he's not ready to let him go, he's not ready to be broken again. He's not ready to see him walk away from him to stand by this cold queen's side and leave him forever. He lowers his head, feeling the grief already bubbling in his heart. He waits for the lethal words to fall.

 

Except they never do. After a long moment of silence, Dean raises his head, slowly, carefully, his heart beating fast before it stops completely in the dark of his chest when he sees Castiel's determined, cold as ice eyes staring at Mother without blinking. This one's smile faded away and she looks at him, truly confused.

“Castiel?” she asks in a whisper, making a step to him.

He keeps staring at her without a word. Dean's feel a warm touch in his palm to see Cas is now gripping it tight, his wings still spread around both of them.

“Goodbye, Mother” he says with a sharp blow of light in his eyes before he turns away, taking a startled Dean with him.

There's a beat where nothing in the Universe moves before Mother's voice resonates, loud and desperate in the woods. “You cannot leave us!” she screams, making several other steps to them, her wings making wide nervous move in the air. “You can't leave _me_!”

Castiel keeps walking, now passing an arm around Dean's waist to help him walk as his body is still weakened. He hears Mother's steps behind him and his wings curve just a little closer around Dean.

“You need us, Castiel! You cannot live without us!” she shouts and this time, he stops, febrile.

“Yes, I can” he says, before he turns to her, eyes like icy waters. “You'll have to accept the consequences of your actions.”

Mother stares at him, helpless, as the crowd whispers behind her back, staring at Castiel, all wide eyed and tense wings. “He is nothing to you” she whispers, incredulous. “You cannot trade a life among us for one by his side… You will loose everything!”

Castiel's grip on Dean's waist only tightens. “I can” he says, as his halo weighs down on Mother. “And I will” he adds, turning back and walking away for good.

 

They have walked for a while and crossed the line between the forest and the field, but they can still hear the cry of agony and despair from Mother, making crows escape the trees, making the sky grow colder and darker.

As they are walking through the muddy field, a brutal, icy rain starts to fall on them and even if it freezes Dean to the bones, he lets it wash all the darkness away, sees the blood and sweat flows among the earth.

As they are getting closer to the house, he glances at Castiel, his heart in his throat. “You shouldn't have done that” he whispers, desperate.

“Why?” Castiel asks in a low, deep voice next to him, his eyes fixed strong on the house and its white walls, anger still floating in a red cloud around him.

“I don't want you to leave them for me” Dean answers softly, blinking to chase the raindrops away.

“But what about what _I_ want?” Castiel suddenly exclaims, making Dean jump on his feet and nearly fall in the mud. He turns to look at him, shaking, frightened and cold as the fae's eyes are darker than the depths of the forest, lightning bolts striking in them, ready to smite Dean and reduce him to a neat heap of ashes.

But to his greatest surprise, and relief, the hurricane in Cas' eyes fade and they only become as sorrowful and absent as they usually are and he gives him a look full of guilt. “I'm sorry.” he says, and Dean can clearly hear the sob beneath his words.

He stops in the middle of the field. “Hey,” he says, making Cas stops as this one keeps walking without him. He lands a hand on his arm, forcing him to turn back to him. “That was my fault, I shouldn't have go into the forest in the first place.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You thought I was in danger. I can't blame you for this.”

“But I felt something was off. And I still came and got my ass kicked. That's all.”

Castiel raises his eyes to him, full of tears that cut all Dean's words. “You could have died, Dean” he whispers in a heavy breath. The rain drips from his wings, singing on the soft ground.

“Cas-” Dean starts, his heart aching.

 

Castiel collapses against his chest, his head falling heavily on his shoulder. His arms stay on his sides, as if he was too weak, too broken to grip Dean's back as always. He just falls against him like a star in the middle of a field and he cries, the rain immediately washing his tears away.

Dean sighs deeply, closing his eyes as he leans his cheek against Cas' head, passing a hand in his damp dark hair. “We'll figure this out.” He holds him close against him, crashing all his soul through the golden threads of their bonds. “I promise” he whispers.

 

Castiel doesn't say anything, just curls his wings above them, protecting them from the rain, divine shelter from the storm growing outside.

 

**X**

 

Though Dean pretends he's strong, he's not.

 

After his encounter with the faes, life goes back to the way it was before, flowing smoothly with a sound. He keeps going to work, he sees Sam and Jessica, he walks Gunner, he eats and breathes and sleeps. He smiles and he laughs loudly when something funny comes up on TV, he still enjoy the gifts the world is giving him.

But deep down, something shattered in his soul and he feels cold inside. Sometimes he forgets what he's doing and unconsciously, he turns to the forest, his worried eyes sounding the depths of the dark woods. He remembers each kick and blow he received, leaving bruises that still mark his skin of somber blue, purple and yellow flowers. He remembers Mother's severe eyes as she would order his death, and they were glacial and terribly calm, as if he was nothing more than a speck of dust under her feet.

 

Each night he curls into a ball, making his body small, trying to hide his mind away from the night. Castiel obviously noticed the change in the weather around him, and he passes an arm around his waist, holds him close against his chest as Dean shivers, Cas' wing spreading to protect him from the dread. He asked many times for forgiveness but Dean always answered with a confused look, for it wasn't his fault in any way.

Family is a special color in your blood, but it's nothing more. Sure, it's part of you aura when you are born, but slowly, you rip yourself from that embrace to walk into another wind. Dean would be the first to be offended if someone said he would become like his parents, abandoning the ones he loves like a selfish and heartless being. Just like him and anyone else, Castiel didn't chose the ones sharing his dark blood and he could never control their actions.

 

Days passed slow and warm, as Dean started to heal, his body becoming less sore and tense, and he stopped jumping at every noise, he stopped shivering at every shadow. He starts to feel strong again, as the light in his chest starts to shine again. Castiel helped a lot, easing him when the anxiety would get blinding, when each breath felt painful and dangerous in his lungs.

Slowly, the bloody, dreadful memories start to fade, or at least they put them in a box, and the box in a dusty room of their minds. Dean begins to be himself again, as he stops flinching when someone other than Castiel reaches out to him. He stops stiffening when someone puts their hand on his shoulder, when someone makes a quick move or pulls him into a hug. It's hard at first, because he cannot explain what happened to him and he has to bear their touch without saying anything when all he can remember is claws and teeth diving in his flesh.

 

A quiet, comfortable routine starts to settle down and even if he still feels the agony is his bones, he starts to think this terrible thing happened for a greater good. Now, Castiel lives with him, he doesn't just stay for a few days before has to flutter somewhere else into the woods.

 

He doesn't feel paralyzed by fear when he wakes each morning, as he gets out of bed and softly wakes Cas with a kiss, before this one groans and hides his face in the pillows, and Dean laughs as he ruffles his hair. He makes them breakfast and sits at the kitchen table with a newspaper, waiting for Cas to arrive. He soon discovered he wasn't a soul of the morning, and that was perfectly fine to him. Cas eventually appears a few minutes after, strands of dark hair falling on his forehead, disheveled feathers on his crystal colored wings.

He would then leave to work and he was dreading every moments he had to spend outside anymore. He would enjoy his days in the warm, neon illuminated bar, talking with his co-workers as he would create colorful, smoking cocktails or just pouring old whiskey in faceted glasses. He even invited Clarke and Daria home and both of them fell for Castiel's odd, charming aura and Dean remembers this evening as one of the best he ever lived.

 

They went to Sam and Jessica's flower shop many times, staying many times with them for entire hours, observing the flow of various customers entering the fresh room. Dean would laugh at Castiel's confused expression when an old lady would tell him he reminded her of her deceased husband, or when a young woman would stare at him in awe, barely listening at Sam or Jessica's advices on flowers. They would often have dinner together, only bathed in laughter and love. One evening, Dean was walking back from the bathroom when he heard his brother's voice, slow and warm.

“You promise me you'll take care of him?” he was asking and a second after, Dean heard Castiel's low voice answering him.

“Always” he said and Dean's heart jumped like a mad bird in his chest.

When he entered the room, Sam had pressed his hand on Castiel's shoulder, giving him a gentle smile, the fae slowly spreading his soft, sparkling aura around him. Dean slowly saw Sam and Cas' bond evolving and they soon became close friends, his brother obviously sharing embarrassing memories about Dean when he was a child, making Cas laugh at the top of his lungs, and Dean could never be mad at him.

And every night, when he would lie in his bed, he would see his gentle blue eyes staring at him, his lips curving into a soft smile as he would tangle their fingers together. Dean smiled in his sleep, his heart warm, softly pulsing in his chest as Castiel would breath against his neck, hot and golden, his wings shivering under Dean's touch.

 

Yet, his peaceful slumber is broken one afternoon that he's dozing on the couch when someone knocks on the door, awakening him, Cas, who was heavy on his side, and Gunner who stands up in one move before he starts barking at the sound.

Dean groans and gets up, as Castiel rubs his eyes, his wings disappearing behind him. Dean prepares his anger to the one who disturbed them. He hopes it's not some curious inhabitant or weird guy wanting to sell him odd looking products. There, he will not be able to keep the flow of swears from downing them, before he will drop back on the couch and fall back into sleep.

 

He opens the door and to his greatest surprise, it's no stranger staring at him with a hypocritical smile, but Jessica shivering on his front door, her eyes red and swollen.

He frowns and makes her get inside, suddenly worried. Castiel is sitting on the couch and invites her to sit next to him, before he wraps a blanket around her shaking shoulders, frowning of worry.

Dean squats in front of her and takes her hands in his, as her body shakes with strangled little sobs. “Hey Jess what's going on?” he asks, as gently as he can.

“Sam… Sam...” she stutters, big tears rolling down her face, and it strikes Dean's heart for he always saw her as strong as a mountain. “We had a fight” she finally says, as Castiel rubs her back in a soothing circle motion.

“What happened?” he asks with a low, calming voice and Jessica turns her glassy eyes to him.

“We were at the shop and-and he said he had heard something.” she says, shivering violently of fear or cold, Dean could not tell. “He said he-he heard someone whispering in the back and he was so serious, and he knows how scared I am of that kind of things and I told him it wasn't funny but-but” she says before she's cut by another wave of sobs.

Dean's heart seems to beat slower, heavier in his chest. “Whispers?” he mutters, his eyes jumping on Castiel who gives him a worried look.

“Ye-yes.” Jessica answers, her lip trembling of grief. “He told me it was getting louder and he looked really scared but I didn't believe him. I was tired and I shouted at him and said I had no time for his bullshit.” She raises her clear eyes to Dean, her grip tight on his hands, until his skin turns white. “He looked so hurt and then-then he left and he didn't tell me where he was going and-” She stops and takes a deep breath. “I waited for a while but he didn't come back so I got worried and he wouldn't answer his phone so-so I came to you. Please tell him I'm sorry, tell him to come back to me!”

Dean's heart drops into the dark of his chest. “Jess.” he says in a breath and she stares at him, her eyes begging. “Sam's not here” he lets out, starting to shiver himself.

Her eyes open wide. “But Dean, if he's not here, where's he?” she asks, her chest rising and crashing too fast, her face becoming white and full of fear.

 

Dean is about to answer when a loud noise bursts from behind his house and he jumps on his feet to see what's going on from the glass window. A thick thread of smoke is rising above the pines, as if some wild fire had been started.

 

He holds his breath and steps outside, shaking in the cold wind that howls in his ear, and it sounds like hundreds of screams of agony. He stares at the pines, narrowing his eyes at their dark silhouettes. He notices beams of golden light moving among them, and suddenly the sky is covered of large gray clouds, the storm is growling in the distance, lightning strikes on the trees. And suddenly he hears something that freezes his blood in his veins.

The screams weren't just an illusion. They are here, very real and loud, full of a pure, devastating pain, filling his head, and they sound so human. He knows he's the only one hearing it, for it's loud and brutal in his skull, and maybe Cas can hear it too with his bright grace, but he feels suddenly so cold and alone. The noise swells to the point he winces and shuts his eyes tight until the voices seem to drift away.

 

It's worse than anything he ever imagined, for it's calling his name with that familiar voice he heard for as long as he remembered.

 _Sam_.

 

**X**

 

Dean turns to Castiel, all his limbs shaking, his body covered of cold sweat, dripping like glaciers melting on his spine. The fae gives him the same desperate look and his aura shivers a little around him, and Dean knows he heard it too.

Dean manages to rip his eyes from him to dive them into Jessica's. “Listen,” he starts, his voice barely perceptible “I need you to stay here until we come back, OK?” he asks, his words sore and heavy.

Jessica is silent for a moment, only blinking with a confused expression. “Dean, what's going on?” Seeing he doesn't answer and only stares at her with his haunted glassy eyes, she frowns. “Dean, please, tell me. I deserve to know.”

Dean gives Cas a begging look and this one gets up, walks closer to him to put a hand on his shoulder, warm and soothing as all Dean's limbs shake under his holy palm. “We believe Sam's danger” Castiel says, as softly as he can. “But we will get him back, I promise.”

Jessica opens wide, terrified eyes. “Wha-what?” she blurts as she wraps her arms around her, Sam's sweater big on her frail silhouette. “How do you know that?”

“I can't tell you” Dean gently murmurs, glancing at Castiel. “Just stay here and we'll get out of this, alright?”

“Dean!” Jessica suddenly shouts, making him flinch. “You don't understand!” she keeps going, heavy sobs in her throat. “You're telling me Sam's danger and God knows where, and then you tell me you can't say anything!?” She gives him a begging look. “Please, Dean. He's all I have.”

Dean swallows down hardly, his heart thundering strong and painful in his chest. Her eyes are full of tears, caged in her irises as she keeps blinking to chase them back into the sea in her skull. He turns to look at Castiel, to see this one is already staring at him, a serious expression on his features.

“It's OK.” he says as his hand slips from Dean's shoulder to nest into his palm. “We can tell her.”

“But-” Dean begins, startled, as the minutes pass and Sam could be letting his last breaths out. Who knows what Mother and her mad followers could do to him, by simple revenge?

“Tell me what?” Jessica snaps, her eyes falling from Dean to Cas, to fall back on Dean. “Tell me!”

 

Castiel says nothing but presses Dean's hand gently in his own and closes his eyes. A second after, there's a soft rustling and his wings appear behind him, unfurling with a warm breeze, each feathers spreading so the largest touch the walls around them. The light sneaking by the open shutters slides on them, gives them an ethereal glow as they shine of a thousands different colors, sparkling as if diamonds were flowing underneath the feathers. Castiel opens his eyes again and there are no longer any pupils in them, just a wide, empty circle of icy blue pulsing softly as it's shaken by waves of grace. He has a little sigh and lets his true form appear around him, halos and eyes softly blinking in front of Jessica.

This one is paralyzed in front of him, her mouth half open, her breath stuck in her throat. Her eyes travel from the wings to the silver hands reaching out to her, the ribbons and chains, the circles spinning around Cas' head. Then, they fall on the golden threads around his wrist and follow their strong line until they are wrapped around Dean's, and she raises her eyes back to look at him, incredulous, blinking the tears that finally roll on her cheeks.

“I know” Dean gently says with a small smile. He gives a look at Castiel who turns to him, the empty lakes of his eyes diving into his soul. Dean shivers and rips himself from the vision as the light and smoke slowly disappear to only leave Cas and his shiny wings, as Dean approaches from Jessica and puts his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “I know this is crazy. But we've got to move.”

Jessica shakes her head, still staring at Castiel, half in awe, half frozen by fright. “O-ok.” she says, shaking. “What are you?” she asks, and her voice is surprisingly soft and gentle, for someone who just witnessed the impossible.

“A fae.” Dean answers for him, wanting to move as fast as possible. “Remember the fairytales from when you were a kid? It's all true, the fairy rings, magic powers and all the crap. Except they are less glitter and more murderous kind of crazy.”

Jessica frowns and shivers. “But not you” she whispers, looking at Castiel.

“No” he murmurs in return, his wings having a small, luminous beat as he smiles at her. “We have to save Sam” he then says, his gaze turning to Dean.

Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second, before he dives them back into Jessica's. “You sure you don't want to stay here?” he asks, afraid anything would happen to her.

She shakes her head. “No. It's _Sam_.” She takes Dean's hand in her own, pressing his palm in hers. “I have to come with you.”

Dean sighs. “Alright.” He swallows down, nervous and scared as he grabs and puts his coat on, giving a last look around, suddenly frozen by a dreadful emotion. What if he was jumping in a trap once again, and this time he would not come back from his foolishness?

 

He walks to the glass window and opens it again as the three of them get outside, but not before Castiel wrapped Jessica in a light brown coat he bought with Dean. She smiles at him, her eyes sliding on his wings that glimmer like pieces of divine glass in his back. Dean closes the door behind them and stands next to Castiel, taking a deep, shaking breath.

“You ready?” he asks and Cas and Jess nods, looking somber.

Jess' eyes fall on their hands, and once again she sees the golden link glowing between them, wrapping its tendrils around their fingers and wrists. “Can I ask what is this?” she asks, pointing at the ribbons tying them together.

Castiel lowers his eyes to see what's she looking at before he raises them back, frowning at her. “You shouldn't see this” he says, confused.

Dean turns to him. “What? Are you ashamed of me or something?” he asks, his lips curving despite the seriousness of the situation.

“No” Castiel says as he walks closer to her, a hand reaching out to her. She looks at him in silence, too absorbed by the feathers shining behind him, projecting their lunar glow on her face. “She doesn't have the Sight.”

“But she can see your wings?” Dean asks, now confused.

“Because I want to. Otherwise, she wouldn't see anything.”

“So how can she see that?” Dean says, lowering his eyes to see the golden ribbon snapping like a solar flare between him and Cas, the vision not completely in reality, and not completely in the dream world, just somewhere in the foggy fields of his head.

“She can't” Castiel murmurs as Dean frowns behind him. His fingertips land on Jessica's belly and his eyes open a little wider, his wings shivering behind him. “But the child can” he whispers finally, raising his stare to dive it into Jess'.

“What?” she blurts, her eyes glassy and wide open. “I'm going to be a mother?” she asks, incredulous.

Castiel nods and the tip of his wing curves to touch her arm, and her eyes land on the sharp yet soft feather glowing on her skin as the tears make translucent pearls on her eyelashes. Dean stares at her, speechless for a moment, before he walks back next to Cas.

“We have to go” he says, his eyes darkening of worry and fear. “I don't want you to raise that kid alone” he adds softly, turning to Jess.

Jessica nods. Dean sighs deeply and tries to gather his strength before he grabs Castiel's hand and starts running to the forest, Jess' warm palm in his other one, and he feels all their lives pulsing in his fingers as he runs and runs, the dark pines on focus as he begs, he prays he'll not loose any of them.

 

They soon arrive in the clearing, breathless, sweat covering their skin as the moon glows mercilessly above them and Dean turns around, his ribs hurting. He doesn't hear anything anymore but he knows Sam's here, he feels it deep in his guts. It doesn't feel strange like when the faes made him think Castiel was in danger. There, it's a raw, agonizing call from the depths of the woods, a cry for help. He feels this link every day and he remembers of how he knew where Sam was each time he would run away from home or school, how he would follow his instinct guiding him to a dirty, gray alley where Sam had found shelter, his knees close to his body as he would sit on the cold ground.

It's the same sensation, except this time there's this glacial fear gnawing his bones as he turns to Castiel for help. “Find him. Please” he says, and the fae presses his hand in his palm, their link flowing wild and free in his veins.

Cas looks around, his eyes narrowing at every shadow, every tall tree, all his senses searching for Sam's cry, for the print of his pain. They suddenly open wider as his heart starts to beat faster and he steps towards the pines, taking Dean and Jess with him. “I found him” he says in a breath, worry tightening his throat.

They start running again and it's getting more difficult to keep going with their hands clasped tight together. They release their grips and Castiel goes in the front, followed by Dean and Jess, whose fingers brush against Dean's jacket, her face white and scared.

 

Suddenly, Castiel stops and Dean nearly hits his back. The fae stares straight in front of him, his chest rising and crashing quickly, the worry spreading in his blue eyes. His wings are frozen behind him and he doesn't move, only look at the clearing in front of them, that's somewhat familiar to Dean. If they have stopped in the middle of the dark woods, hidden among the trees and ferns, he feels wrong, as if something of the greatest evil was haunting the space around. Dean is about to ask Castiel why he stopped walking when a beam of light catches his attention.

Something is laying on the ground, its pale limbs glowing under the moon. Dean narrows his eyes at it, and sees it's not something, but someone. Castiel starts walking to the clearing bathed in the night tears and the show opens its gates to Dean, who has to hold his breath or he is sure he'd have empty his stomach on the soil.

Everywhere his eyes fall, there are bloody, motionless bodies, pale under the firmament. They have been slaughtered, turning the divine flesh into puddles of guts and warm blood, thick and bright on the moss. Some still have their eyes wide open, their mouths distorted in a scream of agony. As Dean follows Castiel, he sees the men, women and children laying on the ground, some curled on themselves as if it could protect them from whatever passed by the clearing. He turns to check on Jessica, whose face grew pale and he sees how hard she tries not to throw up, her shaking hand pressed on her lips as she turns her head from the massacre to look straight ahead of her, trying to ignore the smell and sight of Death.

“What happened?” Dean whispers, his tongue heavy, his being shaking as he takes Jess' hand behind him, pulling her close as she buries her face in his chest.

Castiel shakes his head, grief swirling in his eyes. Dean realizes he may have left his family, but he never wanted this to happen to them. He sees his steps are slow and shivering, his wings are folded close to him as he walks close to the throne, his veins glowing blue under his skin.

 

There's a sudden moan next to them and Castiel's body snaps to the sound, ready to face an enemy. But the old eyes holding mysteries staring at him are full of pain, begging him silently as wide, white wings are spread on the ground around, stained in blood and ash.

Castiel walks fast to Mother and falls on his knees next to her. “What happened?” he asks in a scared voice, echoing Dean's words. He takes her face in his hands so she looks at him. “Who did this?” he asks, diving his eyes into hers.

She moans again, agony distorting all her features into a monstrous mask. She crawls closer to him until she finally leans her head against his chest, just on his beating heart. She seems to be soothed by the rapid sound pounding against her ear and Cas' warmth surrounds her in a soft, pine scented bubble.

“Lucifer” she whispers, grasping his shirt in her bloody hand.

Castiel frowns and holds her heavy body against him. “But why…?”

Mother shakes her head and tears roll on her dirty cheeks, and it's pure shock in Cas' being, who never saw her cry in his whole life. All he remembered was this stone statue standing in front of him, covering him with her two cold, severe gems of eyes. He never saw her so close to humanity than in this moment.

She suddenly raises a hand and softly puts it on his cheek, her palm warm and damp of blood on his skin. “My boy...” she murmurs, giving him a soft smile that strikes right into his heart. “I'm sorry...” she adds, a sob in her voice as she strokes his face in a tender, motherly way. Her wings drop behind her as her strength leaves her body. She then moves a little to look at Dean behind Cas' shoulder, her throat tight of emotion. “I'm so sorry” she repeats, her silver shiny eyes diving into his soul.

Dean nods, solemn and heavy, his heart slow and painful in his chest. Mother has a weak smile and she turns to focus back on Castiel, the light in her eyes flickering like a broken neon. “Avenge us, Castiel. He cannot keep on hurting our two worlds without punishment.” she says with such an honesty it strikes Dean and Cas' hearts.

“I will find him” Castiel says in a breath and the next after, Mother has fallen in the great Sleep, a thin, half sad, half relieved smile on her lip. Castiel holds her for a moment against him, sorrow bubbling in his chest and no matter what she did, he feels the ache gripping his heart, squeezing the life out of it.

He then lays her gently on the ground, pushing the long silver strands of hair out of her face and gets up, steps back to let the moon glow on her body as she seems to have fallen into a simple slumber, a peaceful smile made by sunny, bright dreams.

 

He feels a presence next to him before Dean pulls him into a soft, slow embrace, a hand behind his head to put it on his shoulder, and he lets himself hide his face against the strong darkness of his body, gripping his jacket on his back.

“Cas, I'm sorry” he hears from Dean as well as he hears the guilt and grief heavy in his mouth. He knows Dean feels responsible for what happened, for if he never met him, his brother would not have tried to make him pay for getting close to a human.

There's a soft touch behind him and he realizes Jessica has wrapped her own arms around them both, protecting them from the dark emotions swirling around, her body warm and soothing against his as he sheds tears against Dean's neck.

 

A moment after, he steps back, his heart heavy and gray as he takes a deep breath. “We have to find Sam” he says, his voice just a weak whisper.

Dean gives him a desperate look and Cas knows how worried and petrified he must feel, for he has no chance to find his brother on his own: he absolutely needs his help. Cas sighs and gathers his strength back before he turns to the woods again, narrowing his eyes at every shadow, trying to absorb every sensation. A short second after, he has Sam's soul in focus again, bright and terrified red among the pines.

“Let's go” he says and he starts to walk fast towards the beacon, clenching his fists as he swears to avenge what his own blood did to the ones he loved.

 

They haven't go far when a scream rips through the air like an arrow and Dean turns to the sound, his eyes opening wide, his breathing quick and unsteady. Castiel gives him the same worried look and he grabs his hand as Dean takes Jessicas' and they rush to the noise that keeps swelling. They walk as fast as they can, not wanting to make too much noise as their feet crush branches and dry earth under them. Slowly, a warm, bright orange light starts to appear among the trees, dancing flames in the middle of a small clearing.

Castiel stops Dean with a wing on his chest, telling him and Jess to be quiet. He slowly approaches the source of the light, half bent as he walks closer to the evil glow. Dean tells Jess to stay where she is, before he walks to Cas, as quiet as a predator.

“Cas” he whispers, and the fae flinches, strangely surprised by his arrival. Dean frowns and he realizes how scared Cas must be, for he never saw him so nervous and shaking as now. “Why did your mother said _Lucifer_?” he asks, the question burning his tongue since the silver woman said them.

Castiel sighs deeply. “She believes-” he stops, ache spreading on his face, “ _believe_ _d_ we were the first angels, but God wasn't happy with the result and cast us out, before he created new, better ones. One day, someone found an old book near the woods, probably lost by a human wandering here. My brother found this name and decided to wear it from then.” His eyes darken. “Though I doubt this story is true.”

Dean frowns. “Why?” he whispers as he glances at the fire burning in the middle of the clearing, all his limbs shivering.

“Because no one remembers his name before that. Not even Mother” he solemnly says, his eyes hard and cold.

Dean gives him a confused look. “But he can't be the real Devil?” he asks, startled. Seeing Cas does not answer, his worry keeps growing inside him. “Right?”

Castiel turns his eyes to him for the first time. His stare is numb, he barely blinks as dark emotions swirl in them. “I don't know” he simply says. “Maybe he is.”

Dean opens his mouth to answer but a movement at the corner of his eye makes him stop as he turns back to the clearing, doubt filling his heart. He stops breathing when he sees silhouettes covered by long, dark cloaks arrive in the clearing, before one man, taller than the others and simply dressed is thrown on the floor.

 

Castiel has to hold him back because at the second he sees Sam, his soul takes the control over his mind and he's ready to run to the fire and rips his brother from these evil monsters' claws.

He sits back where he is, in the shadows, pale and nervous as Jessica walks behind them. She lets out a little cry when she sees Sam, and her eyes are filled with tears as she puts a shaking hand on her mouth, covering the strangled sobs coming from her throat. Castiel looks at the silhouettes, his chest tight, his breaths heavy and painful in his lungs.

One of them has stepped away from the straight line they all made and it walks slowly to Sam, who's trying to sit, wincing of pain. Dean notices the dark bruises blooming on his temple, as well with the blood slowly flowing from a cut in his hairline. He clenches his fists, his rage and ache flowing fast in his veins.

The silhouette pushes his hood away, discovering short blonde hair and a wide smirk painted on pale lips. “Well, Sam” the man starts, his voice sending shivers down Dean's spine. “Guess who joined the party?” he asks and Dean's heart stops.

The second after, hooded silhouettes burst out of the bushes behind them and their arms are gripped mercilessly, before they are brutally pushed in the clearing. Dean's body hits the ground with a thud and his breath is taken out of him as he rolls on the dust, his eyes meeting Jessica's as two men with wide, somber wings grab her and walks her near Lucifer.

“No!” he shouts as they throw her next to Sam. This one blurts her name, incredulous, his eyes shiny of fear, before he pulls her close to his chest. All her limbs are shaking and she buries her face against him, as if she could forget the day in the darkness of his body.

Dean turns his head when he hears another thud next to him, to see Castiel landing next to him, his white wings dangerously close to the burning fire. He groans and raises his eyes to look at Lucifer, threads of blackness ripping themselves from his trembling aura. Dean hears Sam whispering the fae's name and when he looks at him, he sees his brother's eyes wide open on Cas' wings, his mouth open in shock. He then snaps his stare to Lucifer when this one has a little amused, cruel laugh.

 

“Well, look at this!” he exclaims, giving the four of them a haunted, mad glance as he claps his hands together. “I admit it, Castiel, I thought it'd be a lot harder to get your stubborn little human here!” He gives him a look full of a false pity. “You know, with you watching over him like some kind of mommy bird.”

“What do you want?” Castiel snaps, his jaw clenched, his wings beating the air furiously behind him as he gets up, helping Dean in the same time.

Lucifer chuckles before he gives Cas an incredulous look. “What I want?” he repeats before he laughs again. “Oh dear brother, I want nothing” he says before he pauses, letting the world infuse in them. “Nothing but revenge.” he finally adds, making Sam and Jess shiver as they get closer to Dean and Cas.

“For what?” Dean asks, his eyes diving into Lucifer's as he clenches his fists.

The fae's eyes fall on him and he gives him a smirk so cold and cruel Dean has to fight against himself not to step back. “I'm sure my little brother here told you all about my so-called relationship with my family.” He walks to Dean and for the first time, he notices the long thread of dirty gray moving behind Lucifer. His wings are not wide and immaculate like Castiel's, but tattered and burned in some places, floating like torn apart flags in the wind. “See, I have nothing against you little humans. It's just that you have that thing for ruining _everything_.”

“Why did you kill our family?” Cas asks, trembling of anger next to Dean, who starts to feel the beginning of Castiel's transformation into his true form, hot and sparkling on his skin.

Lucifer turns his eyes back to his brother, and they are no longer amused nor mocking. They are cold, empty wells of blackness. “I tried to tell them about the mistake they made. They shouldn't have let you come close to that human.”

“They tried to kill him!” Castiel snaps, furious.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Correct me if I'm wrong but he seems very alive to me.” he says, considering Dean as if he was nothing but an animal. He dives his dark stare back in Cas. “I can't let you ruin our blood, brother. I'm going to create a new line for our species.” His eyes darken even more. “And your little pack won't be a part of it.” He then smirks as his stare flutters back on Dean like an evil moth. “Starting with your precious human.”

 

It's strange how time is not a long line that always flows the same. Sometimes days seem to be longer than they actually are, and sometimes the moments we hold on the most seem to be the matter of just a few seconds. Here, time turns into a wild animal, untamed and without limits and even if he realizes everything happened really fast, Dean notices every detail when Castiel jumps in front of him, bursting into a cloud of smoke and light as his true form roars, creating a luminous shield around him.

As Castiel illuminates the whole place, Dean turns to his brother and Jess, desperate. “Go!” he shouts, trembling.

“I'm not going without you!” Sam answers him, his eyes searching Dean's, his breath quick and frightened.

“We won't leave you here!” Jess adds, her hand grasping Dean's arm as she turns to Lucifer, at the very moment where his body seems to shift, twist and turn upside down. A second after, there's only a monster beyond words standing in front of them and Dean holds his breath, the vision like a knife in his ribs.

He recognizes the white, bony limbs, the red glowing eyes staring right into his soul, the smile full of teeth, the way the creature's edges seem to shake, blurry and trembling, and he's a man then a beast, and sometimes both. Black and red smokes swirl around him as he dives his lifeless eyes into Cas'. Dean wants to fall on the ground and buries himself here, for the vision is the same he saw the day he arrived in this town.

Maybe Castiel was wrong. Maybe no one has a choice, maybe his destiny was written way before he realized he had one. Maybe Lucifer was the evil, twisted writer of his story, already preying on him when he had no idea another world existed.

 

He swallows back a sob and turns again to Sam. “Please” he says. “I can't let Cas here.” He looks at him, to see the pulsing cloud floating above the ground, piercing shrieks like static, silver hands and halos and wings beating the air and he realizes Sam and Jess turned too, and are now speechless by what they see. The shock and fear blinded them for a moment, but now they see what he sees: a being close to divine, all bottled in a normal, gentle human body. A storm kept in flesh and bones.

He takes Sam by his shoulders. “You got to listen to me, OK?” he says and Sam has hard time ripping his eyes from Castiel's light. He stares at him, breathless, shivering of cold and dread. “I'll be right after you, but not until I get Cas with me, alright?” he says and he's surprised by the way his voice doesn't shake, as if everything was clear and bright in his mind, when he's actually lost in the greatest despair.

Sam shakes his head, his eyes getting glassy and suddenly he's no longer the joyful, strong man Dean knows, but the little, scared kid he once had to look after. Sam may be taller than him but now he's looking so frightened, so broken it shatters Dean's heart. He's scared himself, scared of dying, and worse, scared of seeing the ones he loves die. But he can't protect them, not against something as unbelievable as the forces in this forest.

“Listen, Sammy” he says, trying to be gentle yet firm with his brother. “You got to get out of here. Now.” As he sees Sam is trying to protest, he shakes his head, desperate, glancing nervously as Lucifer raises a white hand, a bolt of red lightning shining in his palm, pointing right at Castiel and his ruby heart beating under his translucent chest. He feels a sob getting stuck in his throat as he turns back to Sam. “Don't do it for me. Do it for Jess and the kid, alright?”

Sam blinks, confused before he turns to Jess, blinking quick. She nods, tears streaming down her face as she presses his hand in hers, before she gives Dean a desperate look. “Please, come back to us” she says before she walks away, dragging Sam with her, whose face crumbles down with every step he takes.

 

Dean watches them enter the woods, making sure they're safe before he turns back to the fight. He sees Lucifer's followers trying to follow them but Castiel stops them, his shape twisting into a human body for the fight, surrounded by a bright halo. He pushes them to the ground, his palms filled with a clear light, burning them to the depth of their bodies. He is leaning on another mad creature when one arrives behind his back, raising a sharp blade behind his body. Dean opens his eyes wide and, moved by something bigger than him, he runs to the creature and jumps on it, both of them landing on the ground. The beast groans, his eyes electric green like two cursed gems and tries to grab his knife back but Dean is faster and catches it. The second after, the weapon dives deep in the monster's chest and it screams of agony before it bursts into a cloud of smoke.

Dean crawls away from the body, shaking and terrified, dropping the knife far away from him, his eyes wide open. He just killed someone. He forgot what it was like and oh God, he wishes he would never had to do it again in his life. He's caught in Castiel's warm arms before the fae helps him standing, his chest and neck covered of thick, black blood. Dean feels something dripping from his fingers and sees they are covered of the same sticky liquid.

 

They are now alone, facing Lucifer.

The monster has a wide smirk, as he stares at them with all his bright red eyes. “Come on, make it easy” he whispers and his voice dives under Dean skull, pulls the skin and muscle to scratch at his bones. “Be a nice little boy and it will be painless” he says, a hand reaching out to Dean, so big he could crush his human body in one motion.

 

Castiel screams louder and ribbons of light wrap themselves around Dean, pulling him closer. Dean shivers when the warm sensation tingles on his skin, and the golden threads of their bond dive deeper under his flesh. Castiel raises a hand of fresh blue light, and it bursts into a shooting star to dive right in Lucifer's chest. His smirk freezes, and for the first time, he looks confused. He lowers his head to look at his body and sees the light turned into a sharp arrow, stuck in his heart, glowing pale blue, veins of the same color starting to spread around.

He raises his head, furious, and starts walking to them, his eyes getting mad and dangerous. Castiel's light swells and he sends new arrows to him, and they all dive in Lucifer's body, the holy light like a hot poison in his evil flesh. He winces each time and Dean can actually see the strength escaping his eyes as he is getting slower, and weaker. He falls on his knees with a cry of rage and frustration and Castiel sends him a last blow of blinding light, claws of ivory ripping Lucifer's heart out of him.

 

Dean feels his own starting to beat faster and he turns to Castiel, beaming, his soul warm and golden as the fae turns all his eyes to him, full of bright tears, a hand reaching out to land on his face. Dean can already feel his silky fingertips on his skin and he's ready to be embraced by the soft light when a roar rips through the air and his head snaps back to Lucifer, only to see blood red lightning flying to them, escaping his palm as he seems to choke on his own power.

Castiel steps aside and takes Dean with him at the last second, the electric arrow crackling next to his ear, leaving a burning mark on his skin and static filling his head. Dean holds his breath as he sees Lucifer slowly standing up again, his limbs shaking but his eyes still glowing as bright as before, an entire Hell raging in his veiled irises.

Castiel shivers next to him and this time, he can't move away from the second blow of red light and the arrows directly dives in his chest, fast like an evil shooting star. He has a little strangled cry and the cloud of smoke around him collapses in one move, like a mountain shaken by Mother Nature, and suddenly there's only his human body on his knees, holding his heart as the blood starts spurting out of the wound. Dean falls next to him, his fear blinding him as Castiel gives Lucifer the darkest of look, boiling of rage, the electricity diving deeper under his skin. His veins start to glow, as if a poison were now filling them.

Lucifer has a smirk, before pain blooms in his body and he winces, lowering his eyes on the blue light that keeps spreading inside. He walks closer to them, each of his step thundering under Dean's chest. “You think you have a choice in this, _brother_?” he spits and Dean curls closer to Cas, who is shivering violently, watching the luminous blood flow from his injury. Lucifer tilts his head, the edges of his body blurry, screams and static filling Dean's veins. “You'll not get out alive of this, and neither will your precious pet.”

 

Castiel takes a deep, shaking breath and holds Lucifer's burning gaze before he turns to look at Dean, desperate. Then his gaze slides on their arms before it lands on their fingers wrapped around each other, the golden threads bright and moving between them. He stares at them for a moment before his eyes open wider. He raises his head to Dean and suddenly their bond has a blow of light and a vision appears to Dean, and only him.

He sees Castiel clenching his jaw as he pushes all his light against their bond, and the golden threads are ripped apart. He feels something breaking in him and he falls and suddenly nothing is holding him back anymore. Castiel tells him to go and so he does, he rushes to the forest and at the last second he turns back, to see Castiel's body glowing from the inside, before there's a nuclear blow of celestial light and all the pines around bent under the blast. He knows there's no one alive anymore in that clearing illuminated by cold fire. The vision shakes a little and he sees himself sitting at Sam and Jess' table as he laughs and his heart is filled with joy as he holds their little daughter against his chest, her blond hair tickling his neck.

 

Dean rips himself from the mirage and shakes his head, tears filling his eyes that burn like fire. “I'm not doing this” he says, the pain heavy on his throat.

Castiel's eyes are begging him and when he answers, the words don't escape his mouth, but fill Dean's head, bright and clear. “ _It's the only way. Let me break the bond so when I die, you'll still be alive._ ” His wings have a slow, weak beat as the blood keeps flowing from his chest, thick between his fingers. “ _You'll have a life. A real life_.”

Dean has a strangled sob as he sees Lucifer getting closer, his steps visibly slowed down by the pain grasping all his limbs. “ _You can't do that to me_ ” he thinks and Castiel has a hurt sound, similar to the one he made when Dean first met him and pushed him away. Except now he's pulling him close and refuses the only choice that gives him a chance to stay alive.

“ _Please_.” Castiel begs him, his hands framing Dean's face as he dives his eyes into his. “ _You can't leave Sam and Jessica. Or Daria and Clarke._ ” Even his thoughts are strangled by grief. “ _You don't need me._ ”

His words are the point of no return for Dean. “ _I need you_. _More than anything_ ” his mind shouts and he grips Castiel's shirt, pulling him closer. His thoughts are full of pain and grief, his hands shake and he thinks of everything he's leaving behind. He leans his forehead against Castiel's and closes his eyes, drowning in the fae's breaths.

“Do it” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Now.”

 

Castiel lets out a cry between human and divine and moves to hide his face in Dean's neck, pulling him into a strong, desperate embrace. Dean passes his arms around him and grips the back of his head, his fingers diving in soft strands of hair. He hears Lucifer having a little mocking laugh and when he turns, the monster is just a breath away, a bony, white hand reaching out to them. Dean closes his eyes and empties all his mind, only focusing on the warm body against his. He thinks he hears Castiel cries against his shoulder.

 

As Cas' true form explodes again and the heat gets painful and intense, as Dean clenches his jaw when he feels like his skin is melting from his bones, when the light he loves so dearly is grasping his heart and turning it to dust, he sees his life flashing before his eyes. He never believed in such a thing, and he's not sure it has anything to do with magic. What he believes is that his mind, feeling like his last breaths have come, slowly falls asleep while letting out all the memories it held tight against it. So Dean remembers glimpses of things: his parents when everything was beautiful and painless, his little brother perched on his shoulders, his dog and house, the day he met Cas, the Christmas light hanging above his head, the snow and feathers mixed together in a curious little heap.

He lets out a last sigh of relief when the light gets so intense each atoms that make his body collapse on themselves and he bursts out in a luminous cloud, his being melting into Castiel's as this one holds him even closer, all his wings curling around them with a last sorrowful cry. The last thing Dean remembers before turning into ash is the blast of white light bringing all the trees of the ground. The Earth shakes and Lucifer gives them a terrified look, before he's burned away by the blow of celestial power and disappears from the world forever.

 

A few miles away, Sam and Jessica finally reached Dean's house. She carries him, shaking but strong, as his being hurts and suddenly they feel the wave of magic crashing onto them. Sam turns to the woods, his heart beating fast and painful in his chest, to see the thick, sticky glow surrounding the forest as the last remains of darkness escape the earth. He wants to scream but his voice gets stuck in his throat and he falls on his knees instead, eyes glassy and burning, Jessica pulling him close against her chest and they both stay here for God knows how long, curled on the damp field, shaken by sorrow and pure agony.

 

In the middle of the woods, the light slowly fades and there's nothing left of the sacrifice that burned the ground. The pines shiver a little, but they stand still, strong and proud. All the forest has been cleansed from Life itself and there's nothing breathing, except for the wind blowing strong and sorrowful on the trees. Nothing moves, nothing speaks, but everything witnesses the pale, luminous smokes that still swirl above the ground, evergreen remains of something beyond comprehension.

 

**X**

 

Ten years after, Sam still thinks about this day. Though his heart healed a little since, he can never forget. Of course, he understands the void Dean left in him but it's not only that. Rather that he's constantly reminded of his brother.

He remembers when he had to answer Daria's questions, and had to lie right in her face, saying Dean and him had a fight, and his brother decided to move away overnight without a trace. What else could he say? This fateful night still feels blurry in his head and he barely understands what happened, so how could he explain it to someone who didn't see what _he_ saw? He remembers leaving the bar, his heart heavy as a stone, and as he had approached the door an old woman had stopped him and dived her pearly eyes into his.

“I'm so sorry” she had whispered, a sorrow so deep in her voice Sam had felt like collapsing. “I warned him” she had added in a whisper before she had pressed his hand in her palm and gave him a sad, little smile. “But what are we to defy destiny, hm?”

 

The first moments had been the hardest. Both him and Jessica didn't have the spirit to smile or laugh or enjoy anything. He had to empty Dean's house and his heart had a sick beat when he opened the door and saw Gunner waiting for him, his eyes sad and dark. What could be disappointment and grief pierced in the dog's bark, and Sam thought he was going crazy as he took the animal in his arms, stroking his soft fur.

He had felt like throwing up when he had to put everything his brother ever touched in boxes, his hands fluttering above clothes and mugs left in the kitchen. His heart had tightened when they had brushed against the thick blanket he had bought Dean a while ago. His brother had falsely groaned but he had knew he liked it, for he had once found him and Cas curled underneath, softly snoring on the couch, their heads leaning against each other.

He had thrown a last look around before he had closed the door behind him, his throat tight and dry as he had put the last box in the truck. Gunner had a hurt little noise, tilting his head in confusion as he had scratched at the door. Sam had sighed and took him back in his arms, before he had walked to his brother's car. He had stopped for a moment in front of its glossy black surface, his eyes lost into the empty, before Jessica had put a hand on his arm and he had turned back, blinking back tears.

“I'm here” she had whispered, pulling him close as he drowned his sorrow in her hair. “I'm here for you.”

 

The ride home had been silent as Sam's hands were light and afraid on the wheel, and he had barely breathed, afraid he would disturb the peace inside the car. Jessica was stroking Gunner's fur distractedly, looking at the fields unfurl by the window, and it had felt like Dean was still here in the static of the radio, the roar of the engine underneath their bodies.

 

Even though his heart ached every night and he had to clench his jaw not to break down, he slowly built his life, trying not to forget but trying not to hold on something he could no longer have. Jess and him got married, and even though the darkness was shaking in his belly, he imagined Dean was here with him, Cas by his side as they would give them bright smiles, clapping their hands as they would walk down the alley, covered in scented petals and laughter.

And of course, his daughter arrived. Tessa had her mother's sunny blonde hair and her father's eyes, somewhere between the blue and the green. But she had something else, something that was stricking him in his chest each time. Something in her reminded him of Dean, and he couldn't explain it. Maybe it was her wide, bright smile or her loud laugh, or the pale freckles covering her nose and cheeks. Maybe it was the way she would fall asleep her nose buried in Gunner's fur, or her unconditional love for pies, or maybe that sharp sense of humor Dean always had. As if it wasn't enough, Sam will always remember when she first discovered the Impala in the garage. It was as she fell in love with it, her wide open eyes covering the car with awe, her little hands caressing the glossy surface.

At first, it hurt Sam and it felt like his brother's ghost was haunting him through her, but slowly, he began to thank the earth, for he realized Dean may be gone, but he was still here with him, in some strange way.

 

One day they were sitting by their fireplace, looking at old photos when Tessa's eyes had fell upon Dean's face. She had a frown and turned to her father, confused. “Who is this?” she had asked in her innocent, sweet voice as she pointed at his wide grin.

Sam had held his breath for a moment and took the picture in his shaking hands. He remembered the day it was taken, bright and clear in his mind. It was Christmas, when Dean and Castiel had come to their house. On the photo Dean's arm was behind his brother's shoulders and around Cas' waist and crinkles had appeared at the corner of his green eyes, for his smile was so wide he remembered Dean had laughed until his belly hurt just before the picture was taken.

“My brother” Sam had whispered as he felt a presence sitting next to him. He had turned his head to see Jess had leaned her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her fingers around his. “His name was Dean” he had added, holding on the photo a little longer before he had put it back in Tessa's little hands.

She had observed the photo silently, a finger stroking Dean's silhouette, before it had fluttered to Cas and drew a shape that wasn't there around him, before she traced lines tangling his brother and Cas' together. “Did he love him?” she suddenly asked, her voice serious and calm on her soft features.

“Yes, he did” Jessica had answered, gently stroking her daughter's hair. “A lot.”

Tessa had rose her eyes to her father and they seemed misty, glassy as if she suddenly remembered something painful. She had then curled against his chest, the photo still in her clenched hand. She had fell asleep like this, her fingers gripping the glossy paper tight.

 

Now she is ten and summer shines bright above Sam's head. They just came from school and are now out in the garden, enjoying the warm sun. Jess stayed at the shop, closing it early so they could have homemade burgers on the evening, as Tessa begged them to do.

Sam is reading a book on a wooden chair and glances at Tessa from time to time. She is sitting near a little pond, laughing at the dragonflies fluttering above the water, and sometimes it nearly sounds as if she was talking to them, the little creatures perched on her fingers.

Sam has an amused smile before he drowns back into his book. A few minutes after, he hears Tessa's voice calling him. “Dad?” she asks and he raises his head at her, narrowing his eyes under the burning sunlight.

“Yes, Tessa?” he says.

She turns her head from the forest and her clear eyes dive into his. A wide, joyful smile spreads on her lips. “Uncle Dean is here!” she exclaims, her cheeks pink and bright.

Sam's smile fades and he frowns. He puts his book down and walks to her, before he squats to be at her height. “Honey, you know it's impossible” he says, ruffling her short blonde curls. “Do you want me to get you some lemonade?” he asks.

She has a little, falsely exasperated sigh. “Dad, you don't see.” She takes his hand in her and presses her small palm in his. “There” she says, her smile still as bright as before, as she turns to the forest.

 

Sam sighs and is about to say something when he raises his eyes and they cross familiar green ones. His heart drops in his chest and he loses his breath and Tessa has a laugh as clear as bells, and she is not mad, for Dean is really standing before him, his expression nearly as surprised as Sam's.

Sam's eyes open wide, and it's Dean, it's really  _him_. It's the same features and bright stare and slight frown, except his body is slightly translucent, colored in a soft, pale blue shade. He walks but his feet barely touch the ground, a moving aura of shadows dancing around him.

 

Sam suddenly gets up and the vision disappears. A cry gets stuck in his throat and he looks around, desperate. Next to him, Tessa stands up with a small laugh. “Here, keep holding my hand” she says, wrapping her fingers around his. The second after, Dean is back, closer than he was before, just a few feet away from him.

Sam walks slowly to him, making sure he's still gripping Tessa's hand and when he faces him, he breaks down. “Dean?” he blurts, tears making his vision blurry. Tessa has a gentle smile and her hand leaves briefly his to finally land on his back.

Dean has a crooked smile and his eyes are as clouded as Sam's. He nods and suddenly Sam pulls him into a hug, sobbing against his shoulder. “You were dead!” he shouts, shaking. The embrace is real and warm, just _different_. It feels more like he's holding smoke and light, all bottled in a human body.

 

When he steps back, Dean smiles at him, his eyes shining of hope and joy. “Well, I'm not exactly alive, but not exactly dead” he says, humor piercing in his voice despite the heaviness of the situation.

Sam has a laugh, a real laugh between the tears rolling down his face. “But how?” he asks, shaking his head, still thinking he's dreaming.

As an answer, Dean turns back and Sam follows his stare to see Castiel walking to them. A few seconds after he's next to Dean and gives Sam a smile, his eyes blurry of luminous tears. His wings are half spread behind him, pale blue and white moving softly in the raw summer light. “Sam” he whispers, and this one pulls him into a bone crushing hug, feeling like his heart is going to explode.

 

Tessa takes back his hand in hers, gripping it tight. Dean's eyes are looking down on her, warm and gentle. “Hey, you” he says and Tessa bursts into a joyful laugh. She gets closer to him as he squats in front of her and she buries her head in his neck, still holding her father's hand behind her back.

Sam holds his breath, seeing Dean closing his eyes under the innocent embrace, his silhouette getting a little brighter. Tessa steps back and Sam gives his brother a questioning look.

“We tried to reach you first” Castiel says in a soft voice as Dean gets up. “But you couldn't hear us. When Tessa grew up, we thought we could try to get through her, but when we see you had built a new life, we didn't want to disturb you.” He lowers his eyes to Tessa and gives her a small smile, to which she answers with a happy grin. “We didn't want to scare her so we hide. But one day, she saw us by accident. We tried to explain but she already knew, and she didn't run away.”

“Hear that?” Tessa exclaims, turning to her father, beaming. “I'm never scared!”

Sam presses her hand in his, giving a look full of pride and love that makes Dean has a soft sigh despite him. Castiel's wing spreads and curls around him, the soft feathers brushing against his arm as he takes his hand in his. Dean gives him a gentle look and lets the golden threads shine between them, and they're still as strong and bright as before.

“We didn't want to freak you out” Dean continues “We made Tessa promise she wouldn't tell you anything. We wanted to wait for the right time but...” he stops, glancing at Cas. “I guess I wasn't ready for your reaction” he admits, looking at his brother's again. “Never dreamed to have a ghost brother, right?” he asks, smiling, but Sam can see the dread behind his grin.

“I don't care” he says, and Dean's eyes open wide. “You're alive, in some way or another. It's all that matters” he adds, feeling the emotion swell in his chest.

 

Dean is about to answer something when a voice rips through the air, coming from the garden. “Sam?” Jessica says and when he turns around, he sees her staring at Tessa and him, frowning of confusion. “What are you doing?”

He smiles widely at her. “Come!” he says and she walks slowly to him, her eyes darkening of worry. When she's near him, he looks at Tessa and the little girl smiles at him, before she takes her mother's hand.

The second after, Jessica gasps and her eyes spurt tears as she pulls Dean and Cas into a hug, soon soaking their foggy silhouettes in tears of astonishment. After they explained the situation the best they could, she wipes them away and smiles at them, her face illuminated by this curve of her lips. “Can you stay tonight?” she asks, her voice broken of joy.

Dean gives her a compassionate look. “Jess, I'd love to, you know that.” He pauses, his eyes warm and melancholic. “But I don't think this where we belong now” he adds, as gentle as possible.

Jessica is about to protest, but Sam cuts her off, giving her a gentle look above Tessa's head. “I understand” he says as he turns to Dean. “It's OK” he adds, even though his heart aches a little.

Dean makes a little step to him. “I'm sorry I wasn't there” he says, suddenly full of grief. “I'm sorry I'm not here.”

 

Sam gets closer to him and pulls his brother in a last embrace, as Dean grips his shirt on his back. “You're here” Sam whispers, giving Cas a look above Dean's shoulder, letting all his joy rain down on the fae, for he never took his brother away. He walked beyond the lines of life and gave Dean another one. Sure, it's nothing any human would understand, but Sam believes life is a concept way too blurry and wonderful to fit a box.

Dean and Castiel give them a last look before their bodies seem to glow from the inside and they turn into luminous smokes that swirl a little around them before they rise to the sky and fly away, bright and clear on the summer sky.

 

They will come back many times after that. Sam often walks near the woods and he speaks to his brother. Though he doesn't see him, he knows he's here, his comforting, bright aura around him, singing in the trees, shining through the scented needles falling from the skin, whispering in a fresh stream of water, buzzing with the bees and fireflies.

 

As the years pass and pass, Sam knows they defeated Destiny in some way that doesn't appear clear and bright at first.

Of course, they paid their victory with their lives, just as Lucifer desired to seem them dead. But as Sam looks through old photos in front of his fireplace, he knows Fate is nothing but an idea. His bones are sore, his hair is turning gray and Jess seems small against his chest but there's a story he remembers, no matter how his memories seem to fade and escape his grasp.

 

For years now, a legend haunts the town. Some people say they saw two men walking in the woods. They are not made of flesh and bone, but light and smoke. They have been seen near luminous ponds or dark, scented trees and each time they took the person's breath away. Some say they are lovers from another time, some say there's something greater than love between these two souls. Some people remembers old stories where creatures would take foolish humans into the forest and no one would see them again. But everyone who met these two beings always came back and it's rumored they're only the keepers of these somber, mysterious woods that hold so many secrets. They find the lost ones and walk them back on the right path, so no other soul has to lose their lives under these ancient trees.

 

Sam thinks of that story and holds it a little closer to his heart and he knows, oh he knows that nothing is ever written. People can erase or rip pages, and even if it appears as if there's no way out of the maze, there's always something, or _someone_ , out there to pull them out of the dark.

His heart still aches sometimes, when he thinks of his brother and all the years he spent without his laugh thundering in these walls, but every time he feels that way, he remembers.

 

Dean has found light. And not in the biblical, foggy way some people would like to sell. No, he has found his own lighthouse in the middle of the agitated, black ocean and though he's no longer flesh and bone, he's living another life, and maybe this one will be softer, brighter, for this light is no cold, motionless glow but a burning sun caged inside a heart, and Sam knows the fire of devotion will always shine in it.

 

He smiles and falls asleep against Jess. He feels no worry for Dean.

_Not anymore._

 


End file.
